Sister Pilar (coldly): And was it for that I was dragged from the dorter?
Don Manuel de Lara: I had sworn to acquaint you with the news ... and to-morrow I leave Seville.
Sister Pilar (relenting): And you are well acquainted with Don Manuel de Lara?
Don Manuel de Lara (gives a start): Don Manuel de Lara? Ah, yes ... we are of the same country and the same age. We were suckled by one foster-mother, we yawned over one Latin primer, and gloated over the same tales of chivalry. We learned to ride the same horse, to fly the same hawk; we were dubbed knight by the same stroke of the sword—we love the same lady.
Sister Pilar (amazed): You love my sister Violante?
Don Manuel de Lara: Yes, I love your sister Violante ... and your mother that carried you in her womb, and your father that begat you. (Violently) By the rood, I am sick of mummery! I am Don Manuel de Lara.
Sister Pilar: You?
Don Manuel de Lara: Yes, I——
Sister Pilar: Then you are not the son of my father’s cousin?