“Leporello, some one knocketh—open.”
Still this man’s courage held good. Surely he was as courageous as wicked.
“Open the door, I say.”
“Nay, master, I cannot move.”
“Then must I.”
And he went to the door, and opened it. There stood the white statue of the murdered Don Pedro. Implacable, destructive.
“Don Juan, thou didst invite me to thy supper; behold thy guest!”
Still mighty in his courage at least.
“I did not expect thee. Leporello, fresh dishes.”
“Master, master, we are lost!”