Mercedes. More blood shed.
Pepito. Nebreda deserved it.
Ernest. [Approaching her.] Mercedes, for pity's sake—one word—Don Julian? How is he? If you could know what my anguish is—my sorrow—what do they say?
Mercedes. That the wound, since his removal, is mortal, and it would be worse for him if you went near the bed of suffering and death. Leave this house.
Ernest. I must see him.
Mercedes. Go, instantly.
Ernest. I will not.
Pepito. What insolence!
Ernest. It is befitting. [To Pepito.] Pardon me, madam [turning respectfully to Mercedes]; you see I am achieving the general opinion of me.
Mercedes. For pity's sake, Ernest——