Don Lorenzo. [Aside.] Ah, I understand.
Benito. Told us to wait there
Don Lorenzo. Excuse me, I did not know
Braulio. Not at all, sir.
Don Lorenzo. [Aside.] How odd they look, in sooth. Pray, be seated.
Benito. Thanks, sir.
Braulio. We are well enough standing.
Don Lorenzo. I cannot permit it
Braulio. Don't trouble yourself, sir.
Benito. If the gentleman orders it, it is better to take a seat. [Both sit down on sofa. Don Lorenzo remains standing.]
Don Lorenzo. [Aside.] Their looks seem to bode no good, or is it, perhaps, that my eyes only reflect the flashes that dart across my mind? [Inspects them again attentively. Aloud.] It was Miss Avendaña who saw you when she passed, and mentioned it to me.
Braulio. Yes, that beautiful young lady.
Benito. Who looked so sorrowful.
Braulio. Like the picture of the Dolorosa. [The keepers speak shortly, and after these remarks fall into sudden silence, remaining stiff and immovable, looking vaguely before them.]
Don Lorenzo. You frightened her, and she almost ran away at the sight of you. But you must not be astonished. The poor girl is very ill—indeed, she is scarce other than a child yet.
Braulio. [Smiling sillily.] It always happens to us in every house.
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