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?
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