SCENE III

_Don Lorenzo, Ángela, Dr. Tomás, and Inés. Inés enters by door on R. as Don Lorenzo utters these words, and stands still on hearing her own name._

DON LORENZO. For her life! For her happiness! Why, to dry one tear of her eyes would I give all those my own could shed. For one bright hour for my Inés would I gladly turn all the remaining hours of my life into martyrdom. [_Inés, without being seen by the rest, holds out her arms to her father lovingly, and kisses her_ _hand to him._] There, say no more upon the subject. This very day will I go and see the duchess. I will implore, supplicate, humiliate myself if necessary, and she must yield. She won't? [_Joyous movement of Inés. Doña Ángela effusively takes her husband's hand._] Well, if I have not got titles, I have at least a name, which, though I may not be able to make it illustrious by work and study——

DR. TOMÁS. It is illustrious, my dear fellow.

DON LORENZO. Illustrious, no—but respectable, yes. Besides, I have some millions that I have inherited, and which I will make over to the duchess and to Edward, that they may be enabled thereby to renovate a coronet somewhat the worse for wear. So you may be sure of it. Inés will be happy, and her happiness will be ours.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. And yours—also ours, who live in you—you, my husband, who are, when science does not blunt your sense, the best, the kindest, and most loving of men.

INÉS. Oh, heavens! [_Gives signs of faintness, and leans against door._]

DOÑA ÁNGELA. [_Rushes over to her._] Inés, my child.

DON LORENZO. Inés, Inés! What's the matter?

DR. TOMÁS. [_Approaching._] Come, girl, what nonsense is this?

INÉS. [_Sits down on sofa R., the rest stand around her._] Nothing. It's nothing—it is only—I feel I would like to laugh, and tears instantly rise to my eyes—and then I want to cry, and I feel so glad, so happy that I cannot. It is because I am fond, very fond of you, father. [_Embraces him affectionately._] How kind you are, and how good God has made you! I am happy, very happy. [_Throws herself sobbingly into her mother's arms._]

DOÑA ÁNGELA. That's it, my girl, weep. It will do you good. See how kind your father is. You must love him dearly.

INÉS. With all my heart. When are you going? To-day? Is it not so?

DR. TOMÁS. [_Laughing at her fond assurances._] Ah, selfish girl! We are very fond of papa when he does something to please us? But if he did not go to the duchess's, should we be quite so fond of him—quite!—as now?

INÉS. Just the same.

DR. TOMÁS. [_Doubtingly._] Quite the same?

INÉS. [_Maliciously._] It is possible I should be so sad that I might not think of saying it.

DR. TOMÁS. I thought so.

INÉS. Before, I felt something weigh upon my breast, and choke me. Now, without any effort—thus—spontaneously—as delicious tears of happiness flow—endearing words break from me. Before, I was only able to say: 'unhappy I, father!' Now, I don't think of myself, I think of him, and my heart rises to my lips upon a cry of love—'how dear you are to me!' [_Again embraces her father._]

DON LORENZO. Inés, my daughter!

INÉS. And you also, mother, you also. [_Embraces Doña Ángela. Don Lorenzo and Dr. Tomás move away from sofa, where Doña Ángela and Inés remain seated, and come to the middle of the stage._]

DR. TOMÁS. Poor philosopher! Neither of those two has read a single page of all your books, and both know more than you do. You think yourself strong, and in their hands you are as soft as wax. You think yourself a sage, and in their arms you are an innocent, not to say a fool. You think yourself just and uncorruptible, and upon the will of those two women you could be led into any injustice or weakness.

DON LORENZO. No, Tomás. When I am sustained by principle my will is iron.

DR. TOMÁS. I don't say 'we shall see,' because they are both angels—but, alas! if they were other! Permit me to parody the great poet, and exclaim with him: 'Temptation, thy name is woman!'

DON LORENZO. [_Energetically._] 'Words, words, words,' he said before that, doubtless, in prescience of the parody.

DR. TOMÁS. There you are, up on the rostrum already.

INÉS. Don't tease papa.

DON LORENZO. The doctor's sallies don't annoy me, child.

DR. TOMÁS. This is where we stand—that for affection, for friendship, for love, for what you call the mysterious attraction of one soul for another, we can and should arrive at——

DON LORENZO. Even sacrifice—yes. But never do wrong.

DR. TOMÁS. A pretty maxim for a book on morality.

DON LORENZO. A still better one for the conscience.

DR. TOMÁS. And are there no cases in which, to prevent greater misfortunes, one may compromise with this Cato's conscience, for just a little, a very little fault, hardly as big as a grain of sand?

DON LORENZO. Once accepted, your grain would quickly weigh as heavily as a mountain of granite.

DR. TOMÁS. Now, you are up the mountains. The rostrum does not suffice.

INÉS. That will do, Dr. Tomás. You mustn't say such things to papa.

DR. TOMÁS. Let us sum up the matter. It is war to the knife against all evil under any form or disguise whatsoever. Not so?

DON LORENZO. So it is.

DR. TOMÁS. Then let us instantly apply your theory. But truly I had forgotten it, and it is quite a romance. Lend me your attention. Listen, ladies. [_Doña Ángela and Inés approach._]

DON LORENZO. What is it?

DR. TOMÁS. To-day a woman begged me to take you in her name——

DON LORENZO. What?

DR. TOMÁS. A kiss.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. To him?

DON LORENZO. To me?

DR. TOMÁS. Yes. [_To Doña Ángela._] But don't be alarmed, dear madam. It is the kiss of an aged dame, and it comes drenched in tears. 'Tis but the last and dolorous contraction of dying lips,—the final adieu of a being who, in a few brief hours, will have breathed her last.

DON LORENZO. I cannot imagine——

DR. TOMÁS. She—this poor woman—sent for me this morning. I mounted to the garret where she lies dying. She named herself, otherwise I should never have recognised her. She swore she was innocent, and all the same begged me to intercede with you for her pardon.

DON LORENZO. You are talking a language not one word of which do I understand.

DR. TOMÁS. Do you remember your mother's death?

DON LORENZO. What a question! I never knew my father. He died when I was an infant. But my mother! Ah, poor mother! [_With emotion._]

DR. TOMÁS. Do you remember how, suddenly feeling herself in the throes of death, she wanted to speak to you and could not; and then in a kind of convulsion seized the locket she always wore round her neck and put it into your hands, fixing you with the supreme anguish of her gaze already dimmed with the eternal shadow?

DON LORENZO. Yes, I remember. Continue.

DR. TOMÁS. Finally, you remember that upon your mother's death you lost consciousness, when the locket disappeared. You have not forgotten who was accused of the robbery?

DON LORENZO. She! It is she? my poor nurse, Juana!

DR. TOMÁS. Yes, it is indeed that same Juana who is dying a few yards off in a miserable garret—Juana who implores your pardon in the sad kiss she sends you.

DON LORENZO. Juana, my second mother, who for twenty-five years was a real mother to me. But why do you speak of pardon? What compromise can there be here with wrong? Forgiveness is no compromise, nor does the poor old creature need my forgiveness. She capable—impossible!

DR. TOMÁS. Not so impossible. When the maid who had care of your mother's jewels notified the loss of the magnificent locket in diamonds to the police, and the first investigation was made, Juana denied having it, and yet it was subsequently discovered that she had taken it from you when you fainted. Two days afterwards she was surprised concealing it behind a porcelain vase. She was arrested, you remember, condemned, and suffered imprisonment for the robbery, and only through your influence and strong recommendation, recovered, if not her lost honour, at least her liberty.

DON LORENZO. [_Firing._] All the same, I persist in saying that Juana accused, Juana on the bench of infamy, Juana in shameful seclusion, was innocent, and that human justice erred.

DR. TOMÁS. Appearances——

DON LORENZO. Not infrequently deceive.

DR. TOMÁS. Then how do you explain it?

DON LORENZO. There must be an explanation. There is some mystery which we do not understand.

DR. TOMÁS. [_To Doña Ángela._] Now he is off on the hunt of mysteries—in a search for a supernatural explanation of an act that to my mind finds a very natural and simple explanation in human frailty.

DON LORENZO. But I know that my poor nurse was incapable of an action so base. I would have defended her if the illness that prostrated me after my mother's death had not prevented me. And as soon as I obtained her freedom, the poor woman disappeared, which fact caused me many a bitter tear. God knows how unweariedly I sought her everywhere. God knows how I longed for her return to me—and she!—how cruel of her! Why did she not come back? No, Juana, my good friend, you must not die until I have clasped you once more in my arms, until I have given you back your farewell kiss. [_With increasing agitation touches a bell and servant in livery appears._] Say—a carriage—at once—instantly—I am going to bring her back here—this very moment. Do you not feel that it is my duty, Ángela—and you, too, Inés?

DOÑA ÁNGELA. In any case it is a work of charity.

DON LORENZO. It is a just reparation. [_Exit by door L._]

DR. TOMÁS. He is the best of men, and the most credulous. He will believe, as an article of faith, anything that the poor old creature may tell him. He will even help her to invent some extravagant tale. Ah, madam, we ought to make an examination of this library like that great and witty one the priest and barber made of the ingenious hidalgo's library.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Oh, if I only could.

[_Enter Don Lorenzo in out-door dress on L._]

DON LORENZO. Well, I'm off. You will come too, to help me to bring her back. [_To Dr. Tomás._]

DR. TOMÁS. I am yours to command.

DON LORENZO. Do you think it safe to move her?

DR. TOMÁS. The unfortunate woman is sinking rapidly. She is just as likely to die in her garret as on the cushions of your carriage, or crossing the threshold of this, to her, enchanted palace. It is, however, quite possible that joy may revive her, and lend her another few hours of existence.

DON LORENZO. Then come along. Good-bye, Ángela; good-bye, Inés.

INÉS. Good-bye. [_Caressingly._] And afterwards you will go to see the duchess, won't you?

DON LORENZO. Yes, child, afterwards. You can wait, but not so that poor woman. She comes first, Inés.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. [_Apart to Dr. Tomás._] Can you assure me that my daughter runs no risks if we marry her?

DR. TOMÁS. Only those of marriage, madam, which are none of the slightest.

[_Exeunt Doña Ángela and Dr. Tomás by door C. talking together. Behind them, Don Lorenzo takes leave of Inés at the door._]