Juan. The very same.
Tim. In the Oriental saloon—the one with the divans, the balcony looking towards the East and the Persian carpet?
Juan. Exactly.
Tim. During a night of orgies?
Juan. No—next morning—on awaking.
Tim. On awaking from the orgie! “Bring hither, Jarifa, bring hither thine hand—come and place it upon my brow!” (Taking the hand of Don Nemesio.)
Nem. (withdrawing his hand). Your brow is all right. Ha, ha! Don’t make me laugh.
Tim. Then look—thine hand—a pure branch of the vine.
Juan. Don’t you want to hear me?
Nem. I should think so. Tell your story.