"Never!" cried Fonseca, with great vehemence. "If, in requital of all my
services--of life risked, blood spilt, I cannot obtain a boon so easy to
accord me, I renounce a service in which even fame has lost its charm.
And hark you, Calderon, I tell you that I will not forego this pursuit.
So fair, so innocent a victim shall not be condemned to that living tomb.
Through the walls of the nunnery, through the spies of the Inquisition,
love will find out its way; and in some distant land I will yet unite
happiness and honour. I fear not exile; I fear not reverse; I no longer
fear poverty itself. All lands, where the sound of the trumpet is not
unknown, can afford career to the soldier, who asks from Heaven no other
boon but his mistress and his sword."

"You will seek to abstract Beatriz, then?" said Calderon, calmly and
musingly. "Yes--it may be your best course, if you take the requisite
precautions. But can you see her? can you concert with her?"

"I think so. I trust I have already paved the way to an interview.
Yesterday, after I quitted thee, I sought the convent; and, as the chapel
is one of the public sights of the city, I made my curiosity my excuse.
Happily, I recognised in the porter of the convent an old servitor of my
father's; he had known me from a child--he dislikes his calling--he will
consent to accompany our flight, to share our fortunes: he has promised
to convey a letter from me to Beatriz, and to transmit to me her answer."

"The stars smile on thee, Don Martin. When thou hast learned more,
consult with me again. Now, I see a way to assist thee."