DON JUAN. [sighing] Ah! you have not yet lost the sense of time. One soon does, in eternity. THE OLD WOMAN. Where are we? DON JUAN. In hell. THE OLD WOMAN [proudly] Hell! I in hell! How dare you? DON JUAN. [unimpressed] Why not, Senora? THE OLD WOMAN. You do not know to whom you are speaking. I am a lady, and a faithful daughter of the Church. DON JUAN. I do not doubt it. THE OLD WOMAN. But how then can I be in hell? Purgatory, perhaps: I have not been perfect: who has? But hell! oh, you are lying. DON JUAN. Hell, Senora, I assure you; hell at its best--that is, its most solitary--though perhaps you would prefer company. THE OLD WOMAN. But I have sincerely repented; I have confessed. DON JUAN. How much? THE OLD WOMAN. More sins than I really committed. I loved confession. DON JUAN. Ah, that is perhaps as bad as confessing too little. At all events, Senora, whether by oversight or intention, you are certainly damned, like myself; and there is nothing for it now but to make the best of it. THE OLD WOMAN [indignantly] Oh! and I might have been so much wickeder! All my good deeds wasted! It is unjust. DON JUAN. No: you were fully and clearly warned. For your bad deeds, vicarious atonement, mercy without justice. For your good deeds, justice without mercy. We have many good people here. THE OLD WOMAN. Were you a good man? DON JUAN. I was a murderer. THE OLD WOMAN. A murderer! Oh, how dare they send me to herd with murderers! I was not as bad as that: I was a good woman. There is some mistake: where can I have it set right? DON JUAN. I do not know whether mistakes can be corrected here. Probably they will not admit a mistake even if they have made one. THE OLD WOMAN. But whom can I ask? DON JUAN. I should ask the Devil, Senora: he understands the ways of this place, which is more than I ever could. THE OLD WOMAN. The Devil! _I_ speak to the Devil! DON JUAN. In hell, Senora, the Devil is the leader of the best society. THE OLD WOMAN. I tell you, wretch, I know I am not in hell. DON JUAN. How do you know? THE OLD WOMAN. Because I feel no pain. DON JUAN. Oh, then there is no mistake: you are intentionally damned. THE OLD WOMAN. Why do you say that? DON JUAN. Because hell, Senora, is a place for the wicked. The wicked are quite comfortable in it: it was made for them. You tell me you feel no pain. I conclude you are one of those for whom Hell exists. THE OLD WOMAN. Do you feel no pain? DON JUAN. I am not one of the wicked, Senora; therefore it bores me, bores me beyond description, beyond belief. THE OLD WOMAN. Not one of the wicked! You said you were a murderer. DON JUAN. Only a duel. I ran my sword through an old man who was trying to run his through me. THE OLD WOMAN. If you were a gentleman, that was not a murder.