With her was the Don Ottavio, her betrothed, but he was nothing to her in her grief, as she leant over her dead father.
Then came the solitary procession, bearing one dead into his house, who but a little while agone was hale and strong, even in his age.
Meanwhile, the don was forgetting the tragedy.
Even the next evening he was in the streets with Leporello, seeking some new adventures.
“Well, Leporello, and pray what is it thou hast to tell me?”
“It is important—it is grave.”
“Better and better.”
“Now good master, promise not to be wrath.”
“So that it doth not relate to Don Pedro.”
“Unless thou art Don Pedro, it doth not relate to him.”