Lagrimas—(Slowly.) I do not love thee!
(Rodriguez looks at her an instant, then walks quickly away.)
Lagrimas—I came for something. (Takes fan from bosom.) My fan? No, no! I do not love thee? Maria, forgive the lie!
(CURTAIN)
The Following Morning
(A group of Moorish prisoners, five men and two women are on the stage. The men and women are standing a little apart, the women veiled, all are motionless. Two Spanish soldiers are stationed at either end of the stage. The muezzin is heard from the Valley calling to prayer. The Moors prostrate themselves with face to East, then assume original position. There is silence for a moment, and birds are heard singing.)
(Pedro enters, and goes to the group to look them over.)
Pedro—Hafiz! He did get thee! Well, thou art a prisoner worth taking, and if I can read the temper of our General, thy infidel soul and body may part company before the sun sets to-night.
(Moors remain silent. Pedro leaves laughing.)