Impudent gitana! Swords are drawn and a free fight for her possession instantly ensues, Don Santiago getting the upper hand and seizing on her, spite of her screams. “Now, by all the saints and devils!” cries Don Juan, touched by the genuine terror of the girl, “give us also a chance, Señor Caballero,” and as the other opposes him, although in his own house, he draws his rapier and falls on him with such thundering blows that Santiago sinks insensible on the floor. The gitana, somewhat above her class, and very beautiful, kisses Don Juan’s hand, which he returns by raising her and pressing his lips to hers. Then plunging his hand into the depths of his doublet he pulls out a well-filled purse, which he gives her with a glance out of his wicked eyes, such as the stage Don Giovanni bestows on Zerlina and with like effect, much to the amazement of the company, who rise up to shout and laugh as he conducts her with mock solemnity to the gate of the _patio_--especially Don Santiago, by this time recovered, and swearing secret vengeance on Don Juan. To the Leporello of that day, by name Gesuelo, Don Juan secretly issues his commands to find out all he can about the gitana, which is done by the ready-witted knave, who tells him her name is Caritad, and that her father abandoned her mother at her birth. But next morning, with the fumes of last night’s wine the image of Caritad vanishes, and he orders a great supper in honour of Don Pedro, to which all the gallants of Seville are bidden. “Death to the king’s enemies” is the toast, and Don Pedro himself graces the board with his presence. But a cloud of care rests on his young face. All looks dark. The Black Prince, on whose help he has so firmly relied, has not responded to his repeated calls for help, while Enrique is supported by the presence of the redoubtable Du Guesclin or _Clayquin_ as he is called in contemporary history. Now they have entered Spain, and actually Toledo, Burgos, Salamanca, Palencia, and other cities of the north are with them. The King of Portugal is doubtful in his allegiance, the passes of the Pyrenees swarm with French adventurers and rebels, tramping down to join Enrique’s camp at Logroño; and worse than all, his little son, Alonso, Maria de Padilla’s child, his only male heir and successor, is dying. Ever since the death of Blanche the horrors of a violent and speedy death possess him. Do as he will, curse, carouse, murder, and blaspheme, he cannot shake off the sinister foreboding. The murder of the _Rey Bermejo_ has alienated the Moors, and Seville, his own Seville, is wavering. * * * * *