young

For five or six years more. Around you men

Will throng for six years more and shower you

With flattery, with gifts and with caresses,

Divert you with nocturnal serenades,

And kill each other for you at the cross-roads

By night. But when your prime has passed, and

when

Your eyes are sunken, and their puckered lids

Grow dark, and in your tresses gray hairs glint,

And men begin to call you "an old woman,"

Well, what will you say then?

LAURA. - Ah, then... But why

Be thinking now of that? What conversation!

Or are you always thinking things like that?

Come out upon the balcony. How calm

The sky! The air is still and warm; the night

Is odorous with lemon and with laurel;

The bright moon's shining in the dense, dark blue -

The watchmen's drawn-out cry resounds: "All's

well!"...

But far away now in the north - in Paris -

Perhaps the sky is overcast with clouds,

A cold rain's falling and the wind is blowing.

But what is that to us? Now listen, Carlos:

I order you to smile at me. - That's right.

DON CARLOS. You fascinating demon! (Knoc at door.) DON JUAN. - Laura, ho!

LAURA. Who's there? Whose voice is that?

DON JUAN. - Unlock the door...

LAURA. Lord! Can it be?

(Opens the door, enter DON JUAN.)

DON JUAN. - Good evening!

LAURA. - Don Juan!...

(LAURA throws herself on his neck.)

DON CARLOS. What! Don Juan!...

DON JUAN. - Laura, my darling girl!...

(Kisses her.)