JEAN. My dear Beluche, I had no idea—
BEL. You have none now—about Spaniards. Are you not under command of a Spanish colonel?
JEAN. He must be French at heart since he is a commanding officer in Napoleon’s army. Do you know him?
BEL. No, I have never seen him.
JEAN. I will confess to you that without reason—simply on instinct—the best support for your plea lies in my intuition about that one Spaniard.
BEL. Ah!
JEAN. But the fact remains. I have no cause to hate the Spanish. If I should ever have, and if my chances of avenging myself should be forever lost to me in the Old World, then I will go with you to the New.
BEL. Then! To-morrow and her dupes! Good by. Remember that I liked you. (exit)
JEAN. Poor Beluche! (sentry passes at back). Dellonne—(sentry salutes). I’ll relieve you of duty for awhile. Hold yourself in readiness to return at a signal from me. (Sentry salutes and exit; Jean looks after him, turns to Mariana’s window and is advancing towards it, when Manuel appears.)
MAN. Good evening, Captain.