Juana. Why not?
Don Lorenzo. [Despairingly.] You denied me at the hour of my birth, and again you deny me at the hour of your death.
Juana. [Clasping him closely, so that in the darkness it is not possible to discern if they are embracing, or if Don Lorenzo has caught her in his rage.] Child of my love! [Whispers in a dying voice.]
Don Lorenzo. [Deliriously.] That's so, that's so.
Juana. I am dying.
Don Lorenzo. No, mother.
Duchess. Heavens! Is the man going to kill her? Help! [Runs to door R.]
Doña Ángela. Edward—doctor!
Don Lorenzo. Mother, mother!
Juana. No,—God help me!—no, not that.