Vict. [Aside.] Ah! I have now, then, nothing to trust to but the ingenuity of Gasper. There is reason to fear Don Carlos had no right in that estate, with which you supposed yourself endowed.
Laura. No right! what could have given you those suspicions?
Vict. A conversation with Juan, his steward, who assures me his master never had an estate in Leon.
Laura. Never! what, not by marriage?
Vict. Juan says so.
Laura. My blood runs cold; can I have taken pains to deceive myself?—Could I think so, I should be mad!
Vict. These doubts may soon be annihilated, or confirmed to certainty.—I have seen Don Sancho, the uncle of Victoria; he is now in Madrid.—You have told me that he once professed a passion for you.
Laura. Oh, to excess; but at that time I had another object.
Vict. Have you conversed with him much?
Laura. I never saw him nearer than from my balcony, where he used to ogle me through a glass, suspended by a ribbon, like an order of knighthood; he is weak enough to fancy it gives him an air of distinction—Ha! ha! But where can I find him? I must see him.