Dennys (shaking his finger at her): For shame, daughter, for the avowal! It tells of rere-suppers of lentils and manjar-blanca in the dorter, or, at least, of faring too fatly in the frater ... what if I blab on you to the Archbishop? Well, this is a piteous grave discourse! I had meant to talk to you of Life, and lo! I have talked of Death.
Pepita and Juanito come running up.
Pepita: We waited and waited, but the Moor never came!
Dennys (gazing at them in bewilderment): The Moor? What Moor ... Don Death’s trumpeter? Why, to be sure! Beshrew me for a wool-gatherer! It was this way: as he was riding forth from the gate of Elvira he was stricken down with colic by Mahound, because in an olla made him by his Christian slave he had unwittingly eaten of the flesh of swine.
The children shriek with laughter.
Juanito: Oh, you are such a funny man! Isn’t he, Sister Pilar? But you must come and play with us now.
Dennys: Well, what is the sport to be?
Juanito: Bells of Sevilla ... ’tis about Don Juan Tenorio.
Pepita: But Sister Pilar will never dance, and it takes a big company.