_Alonzo._ But what could bring him into this wilderness?—Oh, speak, Velasquez!—tell me, what dost thou think could be his errand? _Juan._ To what purpose speak? What end can conjecture serve? To rush with my sword drawn, and eyes averted, into the thickest of the press, is my maxim in any case of danger. Talking dissipates courage, as a shower disperses the thin coat of earth scattered over a rock, so that no foundation remains from which any adventurous action can shoot forth. If I were disposed to talk, I could find enough to say. _Alonzo._ Of what nature? _Diego._ Oh speak, Sir, I entreat you!—When it is dark I always like to hear talking. _Juan._ Well, it shall be so. It may amuse you too, Alonzo, till the hour when your constellation shall rise; for the time always appears horribly tedious when one is waiting for a tender appointment. I will therefore talk till you command my silence; and this shall be the text with which I introduce my discourse.—My friend, this adventure bodes no good!—believe me, it bodes no good! _Diego._ Right, Sir, right. _Alonzo._ This is language foreign to thy sentiments. When has the time been known that Don Juan Velasquez turned his back upon an adventure, because it was dangerous? _Juan._ There is the matter!—Hear me, Alonzo!—If thou wert capable of doubting my courage, I might easily prove it, by engaging the next rattle-snake I should meet. Thou knowest my principle, that I do not value my life more highly, than a moment of happiness, and happy is every moment that I sacrifice to friendship. If, therefore, thou hast any regard for me, no more of this!—My arm, my sword, are devoted to thy service—I have followed thee blindly into the labyrinth in which we are now involved; but I must still be permitted to think, that we do not give any proof of our wisdom in groping our way here when we might be more advantageously employed. _Alonzo._ More advantageously?—let me hear in what way? _Juan._ He who is doing ill, may always be more advantageously employed; and by the blood of all the knights that does or does not flow in my veins, I think we are now cursedly in the wrong. I say nothing of the sword suspended by a thread over our heads—affection takes precedence of life—You love Cora—I have the strongest attachment to you, and Diego is attached to both. _Diego._ Certainly, certainly, Sir!—but—notwithstanding—pray don’t take it amiss, if I think that life has precedence of affection. _Juan._ Granted therefore that the prosecution of this enterprise should prove the means of shortening the duration of our lives, yet we perhaps only give up some years of unhappiness ourselves, to purchase the happiness of a friend.—And since they have lived long, who have lived happily, and he only can be esteemed to have lived happily who has died so; what better can we wish, or how can we end our lives more satisfactorily, than in offering them up a sacrifice to friendship. _Diego._ Cursed maxims, these!