himself　virtually　alone　with　a　sympathetic　listener　in　the　still
  starlight　of　the　mountains；　for　all　the　rest　are　asleep　by　this
  time＇　It　was　just　so　with　her；　sir。　Her　intellect　reached　forward
  into　the　twentieth　century：　her　social　prejudices　and　family
  affections　reached　back　into　the　dark　ages。　Ah；　sir；　how　the
  words　of　Shakespear　seem　to　fit　every　crisis　in　our　emotions！
  I　loved　Louisa：　40；000　brothers
  Could　not　with　all　their　quantity　of　love
  Make　up　my　sum。
  And　so　on。　I　forget　the　rest。　Call　it　madness　if　you　will
  infatuation。　I　am　an　able　man；　a　strong　man：　in　ten　years　I
  should　have　owned　a　first…class　hotel。　I　met　her；　and　you　see！　I
  am　a　brigand；　an　outcast。　Even　Shakespear　cannot　do　justice　to
  what　I　feel　for　Louisa。　Let　me　read　you　some　lines　that　I　have
  written　about　her　myself。　However　slight　their　literary　merit　may
  be；　they　express　what　I　feel　better　than　any　casual　words　can。
  ＇He　produces　a　packet　of　hotel　bills　scrawled　with　manuscript；
  and　kneels　at　the　fire　to　decipher　them；　poking　it　with　a　stick
  to　make　it　glow＇。
  TANNER。　＇clapping　him　rudely　on　the　shoulder＇　Put　them　in　the
  fire；　President。
  MENDOZA。　＇startled＇　Eh？
  TANNER。　You　are　sacrificing　your　career　to　a　monomania。
  MENDOZA。　I　know　it。
  TANNER。　No　you　don't。　No　man　would　commit　such　a　crime　against
  himself　if　he　really　knew　what　he　was　doing。　How　can　you　look
  round　at　these　august　hills；　look　up　at　this　divine　sky；　taste
  this　finely　tempered　air；　and　then　talk　like　a　literary　hack　on　a
  second　floor　in　Bloomsbury？
  MENDOZA。　＇shaking　his　head＇　The　Sierra　is　no　better　than
  Bloomsbury　when　once　the　novelty　has　worn　off。　Besides；　these
  mountains　make　you　dream　of　womenof　women　with　magnificent
  hair。
  TANNER。　Of　Louisa；　in　short。　They　will　not　make　me　dream　of
  women；　my　friend：　I　am　heartwhole。
  MENDOZA。　Do　not　boast　until　morning；　sir。　This　is　a　strange
  country　for　dreams。
  TANNER。　Well；　we　shall　see。　Goodnight。　＇He　lies　down　and　composes
  himself　to　sleep＇。
  Mendoza；　with　a　sigh；　follows　his　example；　and　for　a　few　moments
  there　is　peace　in　the　Sierra。　Then　Mendoza　sits　up　suddenly　and
  says　pleadingly　to　Tanner
  MENDOZA。　Just　allow　me　to　read　a　few　lines　before　you　go　to
  sleep。　I　should　really　like　your　opinion　of　them。
  TANNER。　＇drowsily＇　Go　on。　I　am　listening。
  MENDOZA。　　I　saw　thee　first　in　Whitsun　week
  Louisa；　Louisa
  TANNER。　＇roaring　himself＇　My　dear　President；　Louisa　is　a
  very　pretty　name；　but　it　really　doesn't　rhyme　well　to　Whitsun
  week。
  MENDOZA。　Of　course　not。　Louisa　is　not　the　rhyme；　but　the　refrain。
  TANNER。　＇subsiding＇　Ah；　the　refrain。　I　beg　your　pardon。　Go　on。
  MENDOZA。　Perhaps　you　do　not　care　for　that　one：　I　think　you　will
  like　this　better。　＇He　recites；　in　rich　soft　tones；　and　to　slow
  time＇
  Louisa；　I　love　thee。
  I　love　thee；　Louisa。
  Louisa；　Louisa；　Louisa；　I　love　thee。
  One　name　and　one　phrase　make　my　music；
  Louisa。　Louisa；　Louisa；　Louisa；　I　love　thee。
  Mendoza　thy　lover；
  Thy　lover；　Mendoza；
  Mendoza　adoringly　lives　for　Louisa。
  There's　nothing　but　that　in　the　world　for　Mendoza。
  Louisa；　Louisa；　Mendoza　adores　thee。
  ＇Affected＇　There　is　no　merit　in　producing　beautiful　lines　upon
  such　a　name。　Louisa　is　an　exquisite　name；　is　it　not？
  TANNER。　＇all　but　asleep；　responds　with　a　faint　groan＇。
  MENDOZA。　　O　wert　thou；　Louisa；
  The　wife　of　Mendoza；
  Mendoza's　Louisa；　Louisa　Mendoza；
  How　blest　were　the　life　of　Louisa's　Mendoza！
  How　painless　his　longing　of　love　for　Louisa！
  That　is　real　poetryfrom　the　heartfrom　the　heart　of　hearts。
  Don't　you　think　it　will　move　her？
  No　answer。
  ＇Resignedly＇　Asleep；　as　usual。　Doggrel　to　all　the　world；　heavenly
  music　to　me！　Idiot　that　I　am　to　wear　my　heart　on　my　sleeve！　＇He
  composes　himself　to　sleep；　murmuring＇　Louisa；　I　love　thee；　I　love
  thee；　Louisa；　Louisa；　Louisa；　Louisa；　I
  Straker　snores；　rolls　over　on　his　side；　and　relapses　into　sleep。
  Stillness　settles　on　the　Sierra；　and　the　darkness　deepens。　The
  fire　has　again　buried　itself　in　white　ash　and　ceased　to　glow。　The
  peaks　show　unfathomably　dark　against　the　starry　firmament；　but
  now　the　stars　dim　and　vanish；　and　the　sky　seems　to　steal　away　out
  of　the　universe。　Instead　of　the　Sierra　there　is　nothing；
  omnipresent　nothing。　No　sky；　no　peaks；　no　light；　no　sound；　no
  time　nor　space；　utter　void。　Then　somewhere　the　beginning　of　a
  pallor；　and　with　it　a　faint　throbbing　buzz　as　of　a　ghostly
  violoncello　palpitating　on　the　same　note　endlessly。　A　couple　of
  ghostly　violins　presently　take　advantage　of　this　bass
  （a　staff　of　music　is　supplied　here）
  and　therewith　the　pallor　reveals　a　man　in　the　void；　an
  incorporeal　but　visible　man；　seated；　absurdly　enough；　on　nothing。
  For　a　moment　he　raises　his　head　as　the　music　passes　him　by。　Then；
  with　a　heavy　sigh；　he　droops　in　utter　dejection；　and　the　violins；
  discouraged；　retrace　their　melody　in　despair　and　at　last　give　it
  up；　extinguished　by　wailings　from　uncanny　wind　instruments；
  thus：
  （more　music）
  It　is　all　very　odd。　One　recognizes　the　Mozartian　strain；
  and　on　this　hint；　and　by　the　aid　of　certain　sparkles　of　violet
  light　in　the　pallor；　the　man's　costume　explains　itself　as　that　of
  a　Spanish　nobleman　of　the　XV…XVI　century。　Don　Juan；　of
  course；　but　where？　why？　how？　Besides；　in　the　brief　lifting
  of　his　face；　now　hidden　by　his　hat　brim；　there　was　a　curious
  suggestion　of　Tanner。　A　more　critical；　fastidious；　handsome　face；
  paler　and　colder；　without　Tanner's　impetuous　credulity　and
  enthusiasm；　and　without　a　touch　of　his　modern　plutocratic
  vulgarity；　but　still　a　resemblance；　even　an　identity。　The　name
  too：　Don　Juan　Tenorio；　John　Tanner。　Where　on　earth…or　elsewhere
  have　we　got　to　from　the　XX　century　and　the　Sierra？
  Another　pallor　in　the　void；　this　time　not　violet；　but　a
  disagreeable　smoky　yellow。　With　it；　the　whisper　of　a　ghostly
  clarionet　turning　this　tune　into　infinite　sadness：
  （Here　there　is　another　musical　staff。）
  The　yellowish　pallor　moves：　there　is　an　old　crone　wandering　in
  the　void；　bent　and　toothless；　draped；　as　well　as　one　can　guess；
  in　the　coarse　brown　frock　of　some　religious　order。　She　wanders
  and　wanders　in　her　slow　hopeless　way；　much　as　a　wasp　flies　in　its
  rapid　busy　way；　until　she　blunders　against　the　thing　she　seeks：
  companionship。　With　a　sob　of　relief　the　poor　old　creature
  clutches　at　the　presence　of　the　man　and　addresses　him　in　her　dry
  unlovely　voice；　which　can　still　express　pride　and　resolution　as
  well　as　suffering。
  THE　OLD　WOMAN。　Excuse　me；　but　I　am　so　lonely；　and　this　place　is
  so　awful。
  DON　JUAN。　A　new　comer？
  THE　OLD　WOMAN。　Yes：　I　suppose　I　died　this　morning。　I　confessed；　I
  had　extreme　unction；　I　was　in　bed　with　my　family　about　me　and　my
  eyes　fixed　on　the　cross。　Then　it　grew　dark；　and　when　the　light
  came　back　it　was　this　light　by　which　I　walk　seeing　nothing。　I
  have　wandered　for　hours　in　horrible　loneliness。
  DON　JUAN。　＇sighing＇　Ah！　you　have　not　yet　lost　the　sense　of　time。
  One　soon　does；　in　eternity。
  THE　OLD　WOMAN。　Where　are　we？
  DON　JUAN。　In　hell。
  THE　OLD　WOMAN　＇proudly＇　Hell！　I　in　hell！　How　dare　you？
  DON　JUAN。　＇unimpressed＇　Why　not；　Senora？
  THE　OLD　WOMAN。　You　do　not　know　to　whom　you　are　speaking。　I　am　a
  lady；　and　a　faithful　daughter　of　the　Church。
  DON　JUAN。　I　do　not　doubt　it。
  THE　OLD　WOMAN。　But　how　then　can　I　be　in　hell？　Purgatory；　perhaps：
  I　have　not　been　perfect：　who　has？　But　hell！　oh；　you　are　lying。
  DON　JUAN。　Hell；　Senora；　I　assure　you；　hell　at　its　best　that　is；
  its　most　solitarythough　perhaps　you　would　prefer　company。
  THE　OLD　WOMAN。　But　I　have　sincerely　repented；　I　have　confessed。
  DON　JUAN。　How　much？
  THE　OLD　WOMAN。　More　sins　than　I　really　committed。　I　loved
  confession。
  DON　JUAN。　Ah；　that　is　perhaps　as　bad　as　confessing　too　little。　At
  all　events；　Senora；　whether　by　oversight　or　intention；　you　are
  certainly　damned；　like　myself；　and　there　is　nothing　for　it　now
  but　to　make　the　best　of　it。
  THE　OLD　WOMAN　＇indignantly＇　Oh！　and　I　might　have　been　so　much
  wickeder！　All　my　good　deeds　wasted！　It　is　unjust。
  DON　JUAN。　No：　you　were　fully　and　clearly　warned。　For　your　bad
  deeds；　vicarious　atonement；　mercy　without　justice。　For　your　good
  deeds；　justice　without　mercy。　We　have　many　good　people　here。
  THE　OLD　WOMAN。　Were　you　a　good　man？
  DON　JUAN。　I　was　a　murderer。
  THE　OLD　WOMAN。　A　murderer！　Oh；　how　dare　they　send　me　to　herd　with
  murderers！　I　was　not　as　bad　as　that：　I　was　a　good　woman。　There　is
  some　mistake：　where　can　I　have　it　set　right？
  DON　JUAN。　I　do　not　know　whether　mistakes　can　be　corrected　here。
  Probably　they　will　not　admit　a　mistake　even　if　they　have　made
  one。
  THE　OLD　WOMAN。　But　whom　can　I　ask？
  DON　JUAN。　I　should　ask　the　Devil；　Senora：　he　understands　the　ways
  of　this　place；　which　is　more　than　I　ever　could。
  THE　OLD　WOMAN。　The　Devil！　I　speak　to　the　Devil！
  DON　JUAN。　In　hell；　Senora；　the　Devil　is　the　leader　of　the　best
  society。
  THE　OLD　WOMAN。　I　tell　you；　wretch；　I　know　I　am　not　in　hell。
  DON　JUAN。　How　do　you　know？
  THE　OLD　WOMAN。　Because　I　feel　no　pain。
  DON　JUAN。　Oh；　then　there　is　no　mistake：　you　are　intentionally
  damned。
  THE　OLD