Cres. (kneeling). God save your Highness!
Lope. Friend Peter, his Highness came just in time.
Cres. For your captain, do you mean?
Lope. Come now—confess, wouldn’t it have been better to have given up the prisoner, who, at my instance, would have married your daughter, saved her reputation, and made her wife of an Hidalgo?
Cres. Thank you, Don Lope, she has chosen to enter a convent and be the bride of one who is no respecter of Hidalgos.
Lope. Well, well, you will at least give me up the other prisoners, I suppose?
Cres. Bring them out. (Juan, Rebolledo, Chispa, brought out.)
Lope. Your son too!
Cres. Yes, ’twas he wounded his captain, and I must punish him.
Lope. Come, come, you have done enough—at least give him up to his commander.