Teodora. Mercedes, what words have I that will convince you? At another time, such a question would drive the blood of anger to my brow, and to-day, you see, I am discussing with you whether I am honest or not. Yes, am I really so? To the depth of the soul? No, for endurance of this humiliation proves me worthy of it. [Hides her face in her hands and flings herself down in the arm-chair.]
Mercedes. Do not cry so, Teodora. I believe in you. Enough. No more tears. Let me but add one more word, and there's an end to the matter. Ernest is not what you believe him to be. He is not worthy of your trust.
Teodora. He is good, Mercedes.
Mercedes. No.
Teodora. He is fond of Julian.
Mercedes. He would betray him.
Teodora. Again! My God!
Mercedes. I no longer accuse you of responding to his passion, but I only assert—I would warn you that he loves you.
Teodora. [Rising in anger.] Loves me!
Mercedes. It is known to everybody. In this very room, a moment ago, before Pepito and me—you understand?