Enter Don Jose.
Um. You saw the cavalier who spoke to me yesterday—did you know his features?
Yes, signor, they are stamped on every piastre in Spain—it was the king.
True; but mind—no mistake; nevertheless, if your memory fail in least, look on this likeness, and, when he comes to-night—
Ay, boy, the king; mind, none else must be admitted.
Should any other attempt ?
Desire him, from the lattice there, to depart : if he refuse be ready with your arquebuss, and fire at him.
Having no real authority for the detention of Don Cæsar, he is unfortunately still at liberty, and in Madrid; luckily, however, his ignorance of the King's pardon will keep him out of the way, for fear of a re-apprehension; and the King, amused by the sparkling eyes of the Gitana, will utterly forget the beauteous Queen, that bright idol which he no longer worships, but for one sweet smile of whom Don Jose would too gladly perish.
So, my courage still regaining,
Banner waving, trumpet sounding,
Nobly daring, my gauge maintaining,
Forward, heart of chivalry !
So the gallant knight, untiring,
On his gallant steed rebounding,
At his lady's feet expiring,
Dies for love and victory.