Doña Ángela. He is quite calm. He writes, and walks about. He wants to be continually with Inés and me, because solitude terrifies him. A moment ago he stared at me mournfully, but with such tenderness, and kissed me, murmuring, 'poor Ángela.'
Dr. Tomás. You must not contradict him.
Doña Ángela. No, doctor. We agree with him in everything.
Dr. Tomás. And he still persists in the same idea?
Doña Ángela. Yes. From time to time he asks what o'clock it is, gets impatient with the notary's delay, and then mutters in an undertone: 'Though all the world should oppose me, I must do it.'
Dr. Tomás. What a fellow! What character!
Doña Ángela. Oh, doctor, for the love of God, don't deceive me. Tell me, do you really believe Lorenzo to be—to be,—no, I can't—I can't bring myself to pronounce the horrible word.
Dr. Tomás. I don't yet know what to believe. We shall soon see, my dear friend, we shall see. It was precisely to be relieved once and for all of intolerable anxiety that I asked Dr. Bermúdez to call. He is the first authority upon all such cases.
Doña Ángela. But it is impossible, it is surely impossible.
Dr. Tomás. It would rejoice me to learn so, and we need not lose hope. But impossible, madam! Ah, human reason is so slight a thing.
Doña Ángela. Oh, my dear husband! No, I cannot bear—it cannot be.
Dr. Tomás. Come, come, Doña Ángela. Have sense and courage, if only for your daughter's sake, for poor Inés.
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