Scene VII.
—A lane in the suburbs. Night. Enter Cruzado
and Bartolomé.
Cruz.
And so, Bartolomé, the expedition failed.
But where wast thou for the most part?
Bart.
In the Guadarrama mountains, near San
Ildefonso.
Cruz.
And thou bringest nothing back with
thee? Didst thou rob no one?
Bart.
There was no one to rob, save a party of
students from Segovia, who looked as if they would
rob us; and a jolly little friar, who had nothing in
his pockets but a missal and a loaf of bread.
Cruz.
Pray, then, what brings thee back to Madrid?
Bart.
First tell me what keeps thee here?
Cruz.
Preciosa.
Bart.
And she brings me back. Hast thou forgotten
thy promise?
Cruz.
The two years are not passed yet. Wait
patiently. The girl shall be thine.
Bart.
I hear she has a Busné lover.
Cruz.
That is nothing.
Bart.
I do not like it. I hate him,—the son
of a Busné harlot. He goes in and out, and speaks
with her alone, and I must stand aside, and wait
his pleasure.
Cruz.
Be patient, I say. Thou shalt have thy
revenge. When the time comes, thou shalt way-lay
him.
Bart.
Meanwhile, show me her house.
Cruz.
Come this way. But thou wilt not find
her. She dances at the play to-night.
Bart.
No matter. Show me the house.
[Exeunt.
