E’en smote not when the dastard seized her waist,
Resented nought when one her sister kist,
Nor frowned when his compeer herself embraced.
Thus lulled each fear, each dark suspicion chased,
They called for wine, the lawless soldier’s bane.
O’erjoyed was Blanca, yet with eager haste
As poured she cup on cup which swift they drain,
Betrayed no joy, though fast it mounted to each brain.
VIII.
Fired with the generous vintage, which gave all