Dol. (to Juan). Be quiet.
Juan. Well, then we quarrelled—a little dispute.
Laz. (laughing). No—no—it was not a little dispute. It was a desperate fight; you quarrelled in deadly earnest. And you, father, wished to take hold of me—and you took hold of me—and gave me a caress. (Laughing.) Come, come, you were not so bad.
Juan. You see, Lazarus, you see?
Laz. But my mother tore me out of your arms, and she pressed me in her own, and said to you: “Off with your hold; go away; go and enjoy yourself; go and get drunk. Leave him to me.”
Juan. No, Lazarus—I think not—as you were such a child you don’t remember.
Dol. (to Juan). Silence!
Laz. And you cried out: “Well, then, remain with him, and much good may he do you! Much good!” What contempt! and you pushed me away.
Juan. No, no, that I did not. I never did so.
Laz. Yes.