Mercedes. [Aside.] How stupid she is! [Aloud, energetically.] You make a laughing-stock of him.
Teodora. Of whom?
Mercedes. Why, of your husband, of course.
Teodora. [Impetuously, rising.] Julian! what a falsehood! What wretch could say so? Julian would strike him!
Mercedes. [Endeavouring to soothe her and make her sit down.] He would need a good many hands, then; for, if report speak truly, he would have to strike the entire town.
Teodora. But what does it all mean? What is the mystery, and what is this talk of the town?
Mercedes. So you're sorry?
Teodora. I am sorry. But what is it?
Mercedes. You see, Teodora, you are quite a child. At your age one is so often thoughtless and light, and then such bitter tears are afterwards shed. You still don't understand me?
Teodora. No, what has such a case to do with me?