Juana. I? his mother? Good gracious, what an idea! How I wish it were so!
Duchess. Do you hear—do you hear what she says?
Doña Ángela. She denies it.
Don Lorenzo. [Violently.] You are my mother.
Juana. Ah, my poor Lorenzo. [Laughs with an effort, embraces him, and whispers.] Child of my heart!
Don Lorenzo. On your life, repeat aloud what you have just whispered to me.
Juana. I whispered! Well, what did I say? To be his mother! Could I wish for a greater blessing?
Don Lorenzo. [Furiously.] Ah, you deny it.
Doña Ángela. Lorenzo!
Don Lorenzo. [With increasing fury.] Do you deny that you are my mother?