Inés. Father!
Dr. Tomás.
Doña Ángela.}Lorenzo!
Duchess. I must frankly confess that I can make nothing of your answers nor of your attitude, which is quite other than what I had expected. I will content myself with asking for the last time—do you consent?
Don Lorenzo. I am an honourable man. Misfortune may conquer me, but it will never disgrace me. Your Grace, this marriage is impossible.
Duchess. [Offended, retreats a step.] Ah!
Inés. What do you say, father? Impossible!
Don Lorenzo. Yes, impossible. For I am not Avendaña. My parents were not my parents. This house is not my house. To you, my dearest girl, I can only give a soiled and an unworthy name,—because I am the wretchedest of men and I do not wish to be the basest.
Inés. Father, father—oh, why are you killing me? [Falls into a chair.]
Doña Ángela. What have you done, you madman?
Don Lorenzo. Inés, my child! Thou hast conquered, O God; but have pity on me.