“That--that is the poor country girl,” said one of the masks, in a low tone: and the three drew together. “Verily, I tell thee, nor will I dance myself nor shall she dance: I love not these pousettings.” “Verily, and I tell thee, Masetto, thou art a rare fool, a fool such as the world hath never seen. Be merry, I say be merry; nay, thou shalt be merry.” And the man of stratagem playfully thrust about the uneasy rustic, while the master led away the young girl. Then the dancing began, and soon the don had thrust Zerlina into a closet, unperceived, he hoped, but fully marked by the eyes under the masks. At once they ran towards the door, as the girl called out loudly, “Help! help!” “Verily, ’tis her own voice--help me, masters, help!” Here the don entered by another door, and, sword in hand, fell upon the luckless Leporello. “What, thou wicked servant, thou destroyer, wouldst thou, in thy master’s house, send thyself to perdition? Ho, ho! thou shalt die.” The simple folk were inclined to believe the don, and would have fallen upon the servant, who cried under his breath, “‘Tis the fiend himself.” But the wearers of the masks showed their faces--Don Ottavio, Donna Anna, and Donna Elvira. And they unmasked him, too, for they pointed to him as the ravisher. Then they threatened him, stood about him with angry glances. Nearer and nearer they came, and as though approving them, the thunder muttered high in the air. But he was fearless; on heaven, or earth, or both, he cared not. Like a baffled tiger, he flew at his enemies, cut his way through them, and was saved. CHAPTER V. “I tell thee, master, ’twere death to stay with thee.” “Then thou hadst best depart.” “Verily will I, and quickly.” “Yet why desert me, thy old master?” “What ho! thou beatest me, thou dost threaten to kill me; am I kicked, am I cuffed? Wherefore is it that I am kicked and cuffed? Now, tell me that, master?” “Le-po-rel-lo!” “So, my master--” “What! shall we not be friends again? I say, yes. Ope thy hand.” “How much?” “Four pistoles, Le-po-rel-lo.” “Good! rare! but I tell thee, that if thou thinkest a man of my mettle is to be bought with dirty gold, as thou wouldst buy of the weaker sex, thou thinkest mainly wrong, my master.” “Nay, drop thy hand, there be no more pistoles.” “Avaunt! the gold; but if I stay by thee, thou wilt promise to abandon women?” “Aye, aye!” “Nay, dost thou not harm them?” “I, who love them all! Is not he cruel to all who loveth but one? I do abhor cruelty, therefore do I love all women. And yet are there women who stand by thy metaphysics, and call this love of mine perfidy.” “If thy love is benevolence, which is charity, then art thou saved, and art sure of a cool heaven.” “But thou didst never see so sweet a woman. And I had thy dress?” “Marry, is she so sweet that she loveth a patched jerkin?” “Her mistress is not a patch upon her; and her mistress is Donna Elvira.” “What! wouldst make the maid weep also?”