BARTOLOMÉ.
_Cruz._ And so, Bartolomé, the expedition failed. But where wast thou
for the most part?
_Bart._ In the Guadarrama mountains, near San Ildefonso.
_Cruz._ And thou bringest nothing back with thee? Didst thou rob no one?
_Bart._ There was no one to rob, save a party of students from Segovia,
who looked as if they would rob us; and a jolly little friar, who had
nothing in his pockets but a missal and a loaf of bread.
_Cruz._ Pray, then, what brings thee back to Madrid?
_Bart._ First tell me what keeps thee here?
_Cruz._ Preciosa.
_Bart._ And she brings me back. Hast thou forgotten thy promise?
_Cruz._ The two years are not passed yet. Wait patiently. The girl
shall be thine.
_Bart._ I hear she has a Busné lover.
_Cruz._ That is nothing.
_Bart._ I do not like it. I hate him,—the son of a Busné harlot. He
goes in and out, and speaks with her alone, and I must stand aside and
wait his pleasure.
_Cruz._ Be patient, I say. Thou shalt have thy revenge. When the time
comes, thou shalt waylay him.
_Bart._ Meanwhile, show me her house.
_Cruz._ Come this way. But thou wilt not find her. She dances at the
play to-night.
_Bart._ No matter. Show me the house. [_Exeunt._