Cleofas. His Excellency, the Governor, was rejoicing this morning because his daughter knew nothing of what had happened during the night. But they are now very much concerned. She had these sleeps in the convent. But this is a longer sleep than the others, they say. Cleofas is the only one to work over her.
All. Naturally.
Cleofas. Naturally!—I cannot make her show a sign of awakening.
All. Ah!
Cleofas. Pinchings, prickings! I have tried everything except the red-hot iron, to which His Excellency objects! Pain has vanished! As the Mooress has bewitched the poor child, my art is ineffective. I have advised the only effective remedy: exorcism in the same church, before the highest altar. (They hear the chants of young girls.) His Excellency and Don Enrique have had the patient carried into it—and they are praying that the demon which possesses her will be chased away. Master Oliveira, whom I left there, will be likely to profit and become an exorciser himself.
He salutes and takes leave.
Doña Rufina. And you are going?
Doña Syrena. Without seeing them burn the Sorceress?
Cleofas. Pooh! I have seen such things as those so often that I no longer find them tasteful.
He leaves by the alley at the right. The others, grouped at the left, look at Don Enrique, who comes out of the church and slowly descends the steps.