Ernest. Why? since the others are not murmurs, but voices, that thunder through the air? The tragic event is known all over the town, and each one has his own way of telling it. Wonderful! everything is known except the truth. 'Tis fatality. [Doña Mercedes and Pepito exhibit keen interest in hearing the reports.] Some say that Don Julian discovered Teodora in my rooms, and that I attacked him in blind fury and killed him on the spot. Others—and these would seem to be my friends, since they raise me from the rank of vulgar assassin to the noble level of duellist—aver that we fought loyally like gentlemen. And there are others, again, who have the tale more accurately, and recount how Don Julian took my place in the arranged meeting with Nebreda—that I arrived late on the scene—either from design or fear, or because I was in the arms——but, no; it would burn my lips to give this version—the thought of it sets my brain on fire. Seek the basest, the vilest, that which most blackens—the filth of the mind, the mire of the soul, the dross of degraded consciences; cast it to the wind as it whistles along the streets upon bespattering tongues, and you will have the tale, and may see what reputation remains for an innocent woman and two honest men when the town takes to jabbering about them.
Mercedes. It is sad, I admit; but perhaps public opinion is not altogether to blame.
Pepito. Teodora did go to your rooms—she was there——
Ernest. To prevent the duel with Nebreda.
Pepito. Then why did she hide herself?
Ernest. Because we feared her presence would be misconstrued.
Pepito. The explanation is easy and simple. The difficult thing, Ernest, is to get us to believe it, for there is another still more easy and simple.
Ernest. Which dishonours more, and that's the beauty of it.
Pepito. Well, at least, admit that Teodora was giddy, if not really culpable.
Ernest. Guilt is prudent and cautious. On the other hand, how imprudent is innocence!