All being ready to depart, the duke entered the court.
“Adieu, Momo,” said Marisalada. “Honor to Villamar! If I have ever seen you, I have forgotten you.”
“Adieu, Gaviota,” replied Momo, “if everybody weeps your departure as my mother’s son weeps, they will ring the bells to the whole bevy.”
Old Pedro remained seated on the steps of the cross. Maria was near him, and wept burning tears.
“Do not believe,” said the Gaviota, “that I depart for China, and that we will never come back again, when I tell you that I will come back! See—one would think you were assisting at the death of Bohemians! Have you taken a vow to spoil my pleasure in going to the city?”
“Mother,” said Manuel, much affected in witnessing the grief of the good Maria, “if you weep so much now, what will you do when I die?”
“I will not weep, son of my heart,” replied the mother, smiling in spite of her grief; “I shall not live to weep for thy death.”
The horses arrived. Stein cast himself into Maria’s arms.
“Do not forget us, Don Frederico,” said the old woman, sobbing: “return!”
“If I return not,” replied Stein, “it will be because I am dead.”