others' pride; He could not brook the independent gaze Of one whom, perhaps, he deemed of lower birth; This led to altercation and fierce looks (I own him wrong, for he began the quarrel), But it was thou who wast the first to challenge; And all for a word, too. D. Pas. And was that nought? Nought, the being called a gipsy bastard? What! Call'st thou that a trifle? Bastard! Ugh! I swear, that had he been ten times my friend, I would have slain him. Bastard! Gipsy, too! What! Are we Spaniards of so fair a skin That he would have me pale-eyed, flaxen-haired, Like the barbarians of northern climes? May not a Spaniard have an olive skin And jetty eye without being gipsy called? A mystery, I know, hangs o'er my birth; I ne'er knew my parents. Some secret hand Doth forward me remittances at times, That I might be enabled to pursue My studies at the university. I cannot think it is my spurious father, For I do well remember me of one— Indeed, I think that she was not my mother. Although she treated me as her own son— 425A lady of high rank and ample means, A widow, too, with kind and gentle ways. I knew not then that she was not my mother; But dying when I yet was but a child, I was put early to a seminary. It may be I inherited her fortune, And out of this expenses are disbursed. When young I made no strict inquiries As to my origin. Those around me Told me but little, but I think I heard I was adopted by this widow lady. More I ne'er cared to know, until of late, Being stung by the count's taunt of spurious birth, I challenged him and killed him in a duel. And now I fain would have the myst'ry cleared, E'en should the certain knowledge gall my soul And I in truth should be a gipsy bastard. It may be that he spoke the truth. But how Did he come to know of it? Or, if truth, That truth was spoke in insult, and so ta'en. He who would call me gipsy, let him fear My gipsy blood. Let who would call me bastard Prepare to feel the sting a bastard feels.      [Touching his sword hilt. D. Alf. Chafe not thyself; the deed is done. No more Mar not the precious moments of our parting 426With fiery words, like braggadocio, Or vain lamentings of the fatal past, But let us rather draw unto the table, And o'er a merry flask of Val de Peñas Strive to forget all sorrow. D. Pas. So say I; [Seating themselves at the table. And here's to thy safe journey and return To thy most beloved Salamanca. And here's to the eyes that await thee there. Here's also to the delicate moustache——  D. Alf. Enough, enough, my friend. Such toasts as these Keep for thyself. I've other ends in view. I have to carve my passage through the world, To which no syren's eyes must be a hindrance. Wish me but success in all my studies. D. Pas. Ay, so I do, Alfonso, from my heart. D. Alf. As to 

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