As the banquet proceeds and the heads of the guests begin to turn under the effect of the choice wines of Andalusia, passed round in golden cups and goblets, Don Juan suddenly rises and drinks the health of the _hereditary ally of Castile_--the hero of Crécy and Poitiers--Edward, the Black Prince--now lying encamped in Guienne at Bordeaux; extols his prowess and generosity, and cunningly passing on to vaunt the respect and affection he bears to his master the king, announces his speedy arrival in Spain with the flower of the English chivalry unrivalled in the world. Don Juan knows this is a lie, and that the Black Prince has shown no sign, but that matters little if only he can succeed in impressing the company with the belief that he is on the road to fight Don Enrique. Indeed, to do this is the principal aim of the banquet, and he takes care to bring forward the intelligence at a moment when no one is in a condition either to canvass or to dispute it. The name of the Black Prince is coupled with those of the English knights who accompany him--Captain de Buch, Thomas of Canterbury, Montfort, and the gallant and elegant Chandos. The feats of arms performed in the taking of Toledo by Don Pedro are remembered, and also the ugliness of the women, except indeed the Jewesses. The humiliating particulars of Don Enrique’s flight are detailed, and loud laughter ensues at his sham coronation at Burgos. But no one dares to mention that the _Grandes Compagnies_ have entered Castile commanded by the Comte de la Marche, of the royal blood of St. Louis, and Du Guesclin, and that with Don Enrique they are marching upon Seville! At the mention of his brother’s name the king’s passion blazes out; he clenches his fist and the veins swell on his forehead. Starting to his feet, his blue eyes travel round the room, as if he would read on each countenance the bias of the mind within. Then, seizing a jewelled cup, which he holds on high, he drinks: “Death to the bastard, and by the Holy Cross of Compostella may he burn in Hell!” There is a pause. No one echoes this savage curse of brother to brother. Even the well-seasoned profligates around are sobered for an instant by the unnatural toast. In the general silence which follows, Leporello or Gesuelo makes his way to his master with a musk-scented letter in his hand, bound with a blue ribbon. Cutting the ribbon with his dagger, Don Juan (like a man accustomed to such missives) glances at the signature, then lets it fall. What matter? It is signed Amina. Who is Amina? He has already forgotten! When the king rises to depart, Don Juan accompanies him to the portal of the Alcazar, followed by the soberer guests. The open letter lies upon the floor. It is perceived by Don Santiago who, raising it on the point of his rapier, reads these words aloud: “Come to me, false one, come ere I die. Amina.”