Enrique. Yes! it is she!—Ah, Oliveira, who could believe, if she had not confessed it herself, that this exquisite creature is a detestable magician?
Oliviera. (In a low voice) Oh! her confessions! (Enrique, surprised, turns and looks at him.) Don Enrique, you are a man who can rely on himself. When night comes, I shall leave Toledo for I have much to fear because I have expressed myself too frankly concerning this poor woman, who is no more a sorceress than we are magicians, you and me!
Enrique. (Troubled) Is it possible!—But her confessions, her confessions?
Oliveira. They wrung them from her when they promised your freedom, her sorcery giving you an excuse.
Enrique. And when she cried to me: “It is false! It is false!”——
The sounds come nearer.
Oliveira. She, you see, had condemned herself to the stake!
Enrique. Oh! brute that I am!—I have not understood!
Oliveira. (Trying to calm him) Be careful! Enrique. Must I be a coward!—I could hack myself into pieces!
Oliveira. (Holding him) In God’s name, do nothing foolish! There remains one more chance for you.