Don Lorenzo. The paper! Since it was written by my mother, it is mine.
Juana. Don't be angry with me, Lorenzo, dear one. It is here. [Takes it from her bosom.] This is it.
Don Lorenzo. [Tries to seize it.] Give it me.
Juana. Wait, wait. I will read it myself. I will read it more slowly than you—and thus you will be spared a too sudden knowledge of the truth.
Don Lorenzo. Then read on, and let us see.
Juana. Yes, dear, but do not look at me. Only listen. [Holds the paper so that Don Lorenzo shall not see the contents; reads.] 'Lorenzo, my son, forgive me'
Don Lorenzo. Again!
Juana. [Reading.] 'I feel that the end of life is near for me, and remorse has taken hold of me.' [Pause.]
Don Lorenzo. Continue.
Juana. 'I wish to tell you the truth, and I love you too greatly to do so. Read the secret of your existence in these lines stained by my tears, and do then as you will.'
Don Lorenzo. The secret of my existence! Give it me. [Tries to snatch the paper from her.]
Juana. No.
Don Lorenzo. What nightmare is this, Juana? You seem to have encircled my head with a band of iron that presses intolerably across my temples. Give me that paper.
Juana. No. God help me!
Don Lorenzo. You must. [Seizes the paper, and reads with intense emotion.] 'Your father was rich, very rich. He possessed millions. I was very poor. We had no children' We had no children, she says
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