Doña Laura [recovering herself]. Nothing. You reminded me of my best friend.
Don Gonzalo. How strange!
Doña Laura. It is strange. She was called "The Silver Maiden."
Don Gonzalo. Precisely, "The Silver Maiden." By that name she was known in that locality. I seem to see her as if she were before me now, at that window of the red roses. Do you remember that window?
Doña Laura. Yes, I remember. It was that of her room.
Don Gonzalo. She spent many hours there. I mean in my days.
Doña Laura [sighing]. And in mine, too.
Don Gonzalo. She was ideal. Fair as a lily, jet black hair and black eyes, with a very sweet expression. She seemed to cast a radiance wherever she was. Her figure was beautiful, perfect. "What forms of sovereign beauty God models in human sculpture!" She was a dream.
Doña Laura [aside]. If you but knew that dream was now by your side, you would realize what dreams are worth. [Aloud.] She was very unfortunate and had a sad love affair.
Don Gonzalo. Very sad. [They look at each other.]