Juana. Look at me without anger, and I will tell you.
Don Lorenzo. Where is she?
Juana. In strife with the torments of hell.
Don Lorenzo. Is she also dead?
Juana. She is dying. [Towards the end of this dialogue Juana raises herself, and both stand in nervous agitation, staring wildly. When she utters the last word, she falls back again powerless upon the sofa.]
Don Lorenzo. Juana!
Juana. [Contorted with pain.] Not that name!
Don Lorenzo. Mother!
Juana. Yes, call me so—my son! [Makes a supreme effort to hold him to her.]