Don Lorenzo. I to be her executioner! to destroy all her hopes! Can it be that I have broken her heart?
Doña Ángela. You know full well what you have done, Lorenzo. So much the better, if remorse will now help you to repair your cruel work.
Don Lorenzo. I am indeed miserable.
Doña Ángela. You miserable! Inés it is who is miserable, not you, who doubtless find assured ineffable joy and divine consolation in contemplating your own moral perfection. [Ironically.]
Don Lorenzo. How ill you judge me, and how little you understand me!
Doña Ángela. I judge you ill, and yet humbly admire the fruit of your sainthood! That I do not understand you, I admit, for superior beings such as you are not within reach of so mediocre an intelligence as mine.
Don Lorenzo. Ángela, your words pierce my heart like a sharp dagger.
Doña Ángela. Your heart! impossible.
Don Lorenzo. But what would you have me do? Speak, advise, decide—bring light to a mind that gropes among shadows.
Doña Ángela. What would I have you do? Whatever you like now. Only save your child. Place no fresh obstacle to this marriage. Don't continue to irritate the duchess's pride by brutal and futile revelations. Don't make it impossible for us to remedy the evil you have done by any new explosion.