Don Lorenzo. Here is the proof, Tomás; here is the proof, Ángela, here, my child, is the proof. Listen. [Pause. Don Lorenzo opens envelope. All gather round him.] This is—what is this? [Holds paper away from his eyes, over which he rubs his hand.] What shade is this that dims my eyes? Can it be that there are tears in them which impede clear vision? No,—I cried before—but now I am not weeping. [Looks at paper again with horrible anxiety, opens it altogether, and seeks for writing on all sides.] Where are the words that woman wrote? I have read them a thousand times—and now I can't——[To Dr. Tomás, holding out paper to him.] What does it say?—read, read—quickly—only tell me what it says.
Dr. Tomás. Nothing, my poor friend.
Don Lorenzo. Nothing! [Again looks at paper.] You are deceiving me. Dr. Bermúdez, that fellow is deceiving me. He is one of the scoundrels who have plotted this wretched treason. Read it you—read it.
Bermúdez. There is nothing written on the paper.
Don Lorenzo. Nothing written on it! You say there is nothing written upon it! It is not true—no, it is not true. Inés, my daughter, my best beloved, come and save your father.—What does it say?
Inés. Oh, father, I see nothing.
Don Lorenzo. Nothing!—she also!—But is this not the proof?
Dr. Tomás. Yes, my unhappy friend—the proof—but a far too cruel one.
Don Lorenzo. [Striking his forehead.] Ah, I understand. [Looks at Dr. Tomás and Doña Ángela.] I heard them once before talking of a proof. You! [to Dr. Tomás] and you! [To Doña Ángela.] You have taken it away. God in Heaven! [Recoils from them in horror. The rest move away from him, and he stands alone in the middle of the stage. Pause.] Be it so,—be it so!—I am defeated—most miserably defeated! How they rejoice in their triumph! See how they gaze at me in their hypocritical distress! And they feign to weep, too. They are all feigning. [Pause.] Alas! my heart—alas! for my life's illusion—alas! for love, and oh, alas! alas! my child—phantoms that whirl about and fly from me—for ever fly away!—I who believed in all things good—in the blue above, in the purity of my daughter's brow—what is there now left me to believe in? You see for yourselves. I make no resistance. I yield myself up. Yours the victory. Why have you brought those men here when I do not seek to oppose your will? I will go wherever you bid me. Adieu. Don't touch me. [To Dr. Tomás, who approaches and takes his hand.] When human flesh comes in contact with mine, it seems to me that vipers crawl along my skin. Alone—alone will I ascend my Calvary bearing my cross of sorrows without an infamous Cyrenean to assist me. Farewell, loyal friend [still addresses Dr. Tomás], who have saved the fortune of this disconsolate family from the hands of a madman. Farewell, Ángela, my tender-hearted wife. Twenty years ago, mad with love of you, I gave you my first kiss. To-day, no less a madman, I send you the last. [Kisses his hand to her with cry and expression of desperate grief.]
Doña Ángela. Lorenzo!