Chis. Signor Rebolledo, don’t you fret about me; you know I was born with a beard on my heart if not on my chin, if ever girl was; and your fearing for me is as bad as if I was afeard myself. Why, when I came along with you I made up my mind to hardship and danger for honour’s sake; else if I’d wanted to live in clover, I never should have left the Alderman who kept such a table as all aldermen don’t, I promise you. Well, what’s the odds? I chose to leave him and follow the drum, and here I am, and if I don’t flinch, why should you?
Reb. ‘Fore Heaven, you’re the crown of womankind!
Soldiers. So she is, so she is, Viva la Chispa!
Reb. And so she is, and one cheer more for her—hurrah! especially if she’ll give us a song to lighten the way.
Chis. The castanet shall answer for me.
Reb. I’ll join in—and do you, comrades, bear a hand in the chorus.
Soldiers. Fire away!
Chispa sings.
I.
“Titiri tiri, marching is weary,