Laz. No; it isn’t for God’s sake, it’s for mine.
Paca. If you insist. (Drinks.)
Laz. And now I. (Takes up another glass.)
Paca (stopping him). No; not you.
Laz. Well then, you.
Paca. Ah! by the most Holy Virgin, you see I have lost the practice.
Laz. You fool, why this is very healthy. It gives you strength. I now feel capable of anything. Awhile ago you seemed to me all funereal; now I perceive your black cloak to be all overspread with spangles of gold, and fragments of rainbow, like the wings of a butterfly.
Paca. Ah, señorito, I have been that. Ask——
Laz. Ask whom?
Paca. Nobody—anybody whatever. Ugh, I am stifled. (Lets fall the black handkerchief from her head over her shoulders.) Yes, señorito—when people said—the Tarifeña—there was no need to say more.