Dol. Coughing again! You ought not to go out at night; the doctor has forbidden you. You don’t take care of yourself. You are a little simpleton. Sick children should be in their little homes.
Car. When I am alone I am very sad. I had rather cough than be sad.
Dol. Not so; I shall go and bear you company. And I shall bring Lazarus. I don’t wish my sick child, my darling child to be melancholy. (Fondling her.)
Carmen coughs.
Again!
Car. It’s not worth speaking of.
Dol. The fact is that no one can breathe here. What an atmosphere! What smoke! What a smell of tobacco.
Ter. The three ancient gentlemen were all the night drinking and smoking and laughing. Now you see how they have left everything.
Dol. Yes, I see. (Looking with disgust at the little table which is full of ashes and ends of cigars and covered with bottles, glasses, and waiters’ trays.) Take these things away; clean everything up; open the balcony. I am not accustomed—yet after twenty-five years I should have grown accustomed. (Aside.) The poetry of existence! (Laughing bitterly.)
Car. What are you laughing at, Dolores?