B.: Nothing; nothing; how happy I am to find you here. S.: Did you not sleep? B.: No. I could not. Slumber fled from my eyes. S.: Why? Are you not here secure? What do you fear? Have I not told you----? B.: In vain I seek repose. My agitated spirit wakes; my afflicted soul recalls the past and trembles for the future. There are moments, when I feel that I shall go mad! S.: You tremble, are cold--Blanca, calm yourself. B.: The memory of this misfortune haunts me. S.: You still insist----! B.: You attempt to conceal it from me, in vain.... Last night I overheard, when Fortun announced to you the death of this--of this marquis. S.: Well! What of that?--Man’s days are numbered. His hour of punishment arrives. B.: Moreover, I can not conceal it from you, Sancho; the passing moments seem to me eternities.--We cannot continue living thus.--It is necessary that God should sanctify this union. S.: Soon--very soon. B.: This is not my house. Much as I love you, much as I have sacrificed my dignity upon the altar of this love, I cannot be tranquil. I feel something here, in my breast, of which I had no idea before,--and--you see, I cannot venture to raise my eyes in your presence.--The blush, which inflames my cheek, is the shame of guilt---- S.: You, guilty----? B.: Just the same!--What am I, here?--When I am alone no one beholds me, but I would even hide me from myself.--If, in snatching me from my home, you have taken advantage of my love, do not sport with my weakness. S.: Blanca, God reads our hearts---- B.: Yes, and because God reads them, I implore you, once for all, to end this situation. What is past is as the image of a fearful dream.--To have dreamed it alone had seemed to me impossible. Cruel! this is very cruel!--Your very presence is enough to humiliate me--and I could not live without your presence!--I would desire that looking at you my heart should beat with joy. I wish to feel that which I have always felt at seeing you! that which I felt before!--Why turn your face away? Why does your stern and sombre glance uneasily conceal itself beneath your lids, and why do you not look at me as heretofore? S.: Blanca, you suspect---- B.: No, I do not suspect; I believe. I confess it frankly.... Love is born and grows slowly, but it may die in a single instant!--Mine is the guilt. S.: Cease.--Do you not see that you are lacerating my soul? B.: Listen! At night you slept--I watched! I shuddered, for presently I heard your voice, as if distant, broken and tremulous--you were speaking as if an enormous rock weighed down upon your breast---- S.: You are right--it was so----! B.: You uttered crushing words,--words of vengeance--of dishonor--of love! S.: Also of love! B.: Among those words, which issued as if drawn from the innermost places of your heart, and which escaped from your lips like an echo--I heard my name.--What was this, Sancho?--Tell me.