_Don Lorenzo and Juana._
DON LORENZO. The paper! that accursed paper! Where is it? You have it.
JUANA. [_Showing it._] Yes.
DON LORENZO. Then give it me. 'We had no children,' she said. [_Makes an
unsuccessful effort to read._] Where is it? I don't know. The letters
swim before me. My eyes are dim. 'We had no children!' I cannot read,
I can't. Do me the kindness to read it for me. [_Juana takes the
paper._] Ah, there, where it says: 'We had no children.'
JUANA. [_Reads._] 'My husband knew that an incurable disease was rapidly
undermining his health. Death went with him, nestled in his heart. Mad
with love for me, he wished to secure me all his fortune, and I—it was
wrong, I know now, it was wrong, for he had a father living, but
I,—oh, forgive me, Lorenzo, you who are so kind and honourable—I
accepted.' [_Pause._]
DON LORENZO. Continue, continue.
JUANA. 'We looked about for a child. I cannot write any more. Juana
knows the secret. She will tell you all. Once more, I implore you to
forgive me. Farewell, Lorenzo, and may God counsel you. I loved you
like a son, though you were no child of ours.'
DON LORENZO. I—I—was not—what does it mean? Not her son? I bear a name
that is not mine! For forty years have I enjoyed a fortune that
belonged to others. I have robbed everything—social position, name and
wealth. All, all! Even my mother's caresses, since she was not my
mother,—even her kisses, since I was not her son. No, no. This is not
possible. I am not so base. Juana, Juana, for the love you bear the
God above, tell me the truth. Look, it is not for my own sake—what
does it matter what happens to me?—but for my family's sake—for those
unfortunate women—for my dear child's sake, my beloved Inés, who will
die of it, and you see, I cannot let her die. [_Bursts into desperate
sobs._]
JUANA. That is true. But hush! Who need know of it? and then it will not
matter.
DON LORENZO. But if it be true?
JUANA. [_In a low voice._] It is true.
DON LORENZO. It seems a lie. That woman who cherished me so tenderly was
not my mother?
JUANA. No. Your mother loved you still more.
DON LORENZO. Who was she, then?
JUANA. Lorenzo!
DON LORENZO. What was her name?
JUANA. Look at me without anger, and I will tell you.
DON LORENZO. Where is she?
JUANA. In strife with the torments of hell.
DON LORENZO. Is she also dead?
JUANA. She is dying. [_Towards the end of this dialogue Juana raises
herself, and both stand in nervous agitation, staring wildly. When she
utters the last word, she falls back again powerless upon the sofa._]
DON LORENZO. Juana!
JUANA. [_Contorted with pain._] Not that name!
DON LORENZO. Mother!
JUANA. Yes, call me so—my son! [_Makes a supreme effort to hold him to
her._]