e Sierra?

Another pallor in the void, this time not violet, but a disagreeable
smoky yellow. With it, the whisper of a ghostly clarionet turning this
tune into infinite sadness:

(Here there is another musical staff.)

The yellowish pallor moves: there is an old crone wandering in the void,
bent and toothless; draped, as well as one can guess, in the coarse
brown frock of some religious order. She wanders and wanders in her
slow hopeless way, much as a wasp flies in its rapid busy way, until
she blunders against the thing she seeks: companionship. With a sob of
relief the poor old creature clutches at the presence of the man and
addresses him in her dry unlovely voice, which can still express pride
and resolution as well as suffering.

THE OLD WOMAN. Excuse me; but I am so lonely; and this place is so
awful.

DON JUAN. A new comer?

THE OLD WOMAN. Yes: I suppose I died this morning. I confessed; I had
extreme unction; I was in bed with my family about me and my eyes fixed
on the cross. Then it grew dark; and when the light came back it was
this light by which I walk seeing nothing. I have wandered for hours in
horrible loneliness.

DON JUAN. [sighing] Ah! you have not yet lost the sense of time. One
soon does, in eternity.

THE OLD WOMAN. Where are we?

DON JUAN. In hell.

THE OLD WOMAN [proudly] Hell! I in hell! How dare you?

DON JUAN. [unimpressed] Why not, Senora?

THE OLD WOMAN. You do not know to whom you are speaking. I am a lady,
and a faithful daughter of the Church.

DON JUAN. I do not doubt it.

THE OLD WOMAN. But how then can I be in hell? Purgatory, perhaps: I have
not been perfect: who has? But hell! oh, you are lying.

DON JUAN. Hell, Senora, I assure you; hell at its best that is, its most
solitary--though perhaps you would prefer company.

THE OLD WOMAN. But I have sincerely repented; I have confessed.

DON JUAN. How much?

THE OLD WOMAN. More sins than I really committed. I loved confession.

DON JUAN. Ah, that is perhaps as bad as confessing too little. At all
events, Senora, whether by oversight or intention, you are certainly
damned, like myself; and there is nothing for it now but to make the
best of it.

THE OLD WOMAN [indignantly] Oh! and I might have been so much wickeder!
All my good deeds wasted! It is unjust.

DON JUAN. No: you were fully and clearly warned. For your bad deeds,
vicarious atonement, mercy without justice. For your good deeds, justice
without mercy