S.: My squire knows it——
V.: (Drawing his sword.) Enough!—blood!—what thirst so frightful——!
S.: (Unsheathing.) ’Tis less than mine!
B.: Señors, hold! Sancho, is this possible?
S.: Her voice again—again the cry of her love here in my heart! Withdraw your glance from me Blanca, since at its influence my heart fails and the coward steel trembles in my hand.
B.: Sancho! enough!
S.: Hear it——! Hear it, my father! She asks it——! Have pity on me, since, now that the hour has come for avenging thee, the pardon struggles to issue from my lips! My father, pardon!
V.: Your father, you have said! Who was your father? What is