Part 14 (1/2)

_Act IV. Scene I._

_Street before Anselmo's lodgings._

_Enter Antonio._

_Ant._ At last I have his secret, and one of moment too. A monk, and yet a cavalier! A friar's gown and a gala suit! vowing to heaven and vowing to the ladies! Abjuring the world, and roaming through it with a vengeance! Telling his beads, and telling me lies! But I am not so easily to be deceived. I thought very often that there was a similarity of voice between his and my confessor's, but when I saw the friar's gown, and he accused me of having two wives, it all flashed upon me at once. A pretty fool has he made of me! No wonder that he knew my rogueries when I confessed them to him. What's the having two wives to this? Mine is a paltry secret of a poor lacquey, but his is one which will obtain a price, and it is well to be first in the market. Whom shall I sell it to? let me see--Don Felix----?

_Enter Beppa._

_Bep._ What of Don Felix, husband? Do you wish to serve him?

_Ant._ Yes, if he'll pay me well.

_Bep._ I presume Don Gaspar has not paid you: then must you help yourself.

_Ant._ Why so I do, whenever I can. But he takes care of that.

_Bep._ He might have done, but hardly will do so now.

_Ant._ Why not?

_Bep._ Because he's dead.

_Ant._ Dead! Are you sure of that?

_Bep._ Quite sure, for I myself beheld the contest. Such fierce exchange of hate I ne'er imagined, or that you men were such incarnate devils.

_Ant._ Pray tell me where this happened.

_Bep._ 'Twas in the garden near our house, under the chestnut trees, deep in the shade. The full moon could not pierce the closely woven foliage. All her beams were caught on the topmost boughs which waved in silver. A lovely night to stain with murder! Oh me! I see them now.

_Ant._ Proceed, good Beppa, I'm eager to know all.

_Bep._ Their forms were not distinct, yet could we perceive their gleaming swords darting like fiery serpents; 'twas horrible. At last one fell; it proved to be Don Gaspar.

_Ant._ Indeed! you're sure there's no mistake?

_Bep._ I saw the body borne away. My mistress weeps and tears her hair, nor deems that he was false. I must to the church, but will return again immediately. [_Exit._

_Ant._ Now could I weep, and tear my hair, like Donna Serafina. My secret is worth nothing. 'Tis strange, too, that he should be o'ermatched by Don Perez, whose sword he so despised; I cannot yet believe it; and yet, she saw the body, and her mistress weeps. What can she gain by this, if 'twere deceit? Nothing. Why, then, 'tis plain Don Gaspar's dead. His foot slipped, I suppose, and thus the vaunted skill of years will often fail through accident. What's to be done now? I'm executor of course. Here comes Don Felix.

_Enter Don Felix._

_Felix._ Art thou the lacquey of Don Gaspar?

_Ant._ (_pulling out his handkerchief, and putting it to his eyes_). I was, most n.o.ble sir.

_Felix._ You've left him then?

_Ant._ He hath left me. Last night he fell, in combat with Don Perez.