Don Lorenzo. What is it? Do you distrust me? Then I will go away. Promise to give me that paper. My child's happiness awaits me yonder, and nevertheless a hand of iron, the hand of implacable fate retains me here by your side. Consider, Juana, if I am resolved to probe this secret.
Juana. Lorenzo!
Don Lorenzo. The paper! Since it was written by my mother, it is mine.
Juana. Don't be angry with me, Lorenzo, dear one. It is here. [Takes it from her bosom.] This is it.
Don Lorenzo. [Tries to seize it.] Give it me.
Juana. Wait, wait. I will read it myself. I will read it more slowly than you—and thus you will be spared a too sudden knowledge of the truth.
Don Lorenzo. Then read on, and let us see.
Juana. Yes, dear, but do not look at me. Only listen. [Holds the paper so that Don Lorenzo shall not see the contents; reads.] 'Lorenzo, my son, forgive me——'
Don Lorenzo. Again!
Juana. [Reading.] 'I feel that the end of life is near for me, and remorse has taken hold of me.' [Pause.]