Her acts are modest, and her words discreet!
I did not look for this! Come hither, child.
Is thy name Preciosa?

Prec. Thus I am called.

Card. That is a Gypsy name. Who is thy father?

Prec. Beltran Cruzado, Count of the Cales.

Arch. I have a dim remembrance of that man:
He was a bold and reckless character,
A sun-burnt Ishmael!

Card. Dost thou remember
Thy earlier days?

Prec. Yes; by the Darro's side
My childhood passed. I can remember still
The river, and the mountains capped with snow
The village, where, yet a little child,
I told the traveller's fortune in the street;
The smuggler's horse, the brigand and the shepherd;
The march across the moor; the halt at noon;
The red fire of the evening camp, that lighted
The forest where we slept; and, further back,
As in a dream or in some former life,
Gardens and palace walls.

Arch. 'T is the Alhambra,
Under whose towers the Gypsy camp was pitched.
But the time wears; and we would see thee dance.

Prec. Your Grace shall be obeyed.

(She lays aside her mantilla. The music of the cachucha is
played, and the dance begins. The ARCHBISHOP and the CARDINAL
look on with gravity and an occasional frown; then make signs to
each other; and, as the dance continues, become more and more
pleased and excited; and at length rise from their seats, throw
their caps in the air, and applaud vehemently as the scene
closes.)

SCENE III. -- The Prado. A long avenue of trees leading to the
gate of Atocha. On the right the dome and spires of a convent.
A fountain. Evening, DON CARLOS and HYPOLITO meeting.

Don C. Hola! good evening, Don Hypolito.

Hyp. And a good evening to my friend, Don Carlos.
Some lucky star has led my steps this way.
I was in search of you.

Don. C. Command me always.

Hyp. Do you remember, in Quevedo's Dreams,
The miser, who, upon the Day of Judgment,
Asks if his money-bags would rise?

Don C. I do;
But what of that?

Hyp. I am that wretched man.

Don C. You mean to tell me yours have risen empty?

Hyp. And amen! said my Cid the Campeador.

Don C. Pray, how much need you?

Hyp. Some half-dozen ounces,
Which, with due interest--

Don C. (giving his purse). What, am I a Jew
To put my moneys out at usury?
Here is my purse.

Hyp. Thank you. A pretty purse.
Made by the hand of some fair Madrilena;
Perhaps a keepsake.

Don C. No