Don Lorenzo. Frankly, then, you would have me hold my tongue.
Doña Ángela. That is it. Hold your tongue.
Don Lorenzo. But that would be infamous.
Doña Ángela. I know nothing about it. I feel, I can't argue.
Don Lorenzo. My whole soul rises up in revolt against the idea. To become an accomplice in the most repugnant, because most cowardly, of crimes! To enjoy usurped wealth and a name I have no right to, and all that is not ours! God has not willed it so, and what he has not willed should not be. Inés, you and I, all sunk in the mire! Is this what you would counsel? [With increasing excitement.] Then virtue is but a lie, and you all, whom I have most loved in this world, perceiving what I regarded as divinity in you, are only miserable egoists, incapable of sacrifice, a prey to greed and the mere playthings of passion. Then you are all but clay, and nothing more. And if you are but clay, resolve yourselves to dust, and let the wind of the tempest carry all off. [Violently.]
Doña Ángela. Lorenzo!
Don Lorenzo. Beings shaped without conscience or free will are simply atoms that meet to-day and separate to-morrow. Such is matter—then let it go.
Doña Ángela. You are wandering, Lorenzo. I don't understand you. I don't know what it is you want.
Don Lorenzo. To respect truth and justice.
Doña Ángela. Truth!