Jav. (stopping her). No, for God’s sake! What should make him ill? Listen to me. We and several friends have been dining with two writers from Madrid—people of our profession. We spoke of arts, of sciences, of politics, of philosophy, and of everything divine and human. We drank, we gave toasts, we made speeches, we read verses. You understand? And these things excite in an extraordinary way the nervous system of Lazarus.
Dol. And has anything gone wrong with him? My God!
Car. Go, Dolores—go!
Jav. For the sake of God in heaven, let me conclude. These things, I say, shake his nerves, and his imagination becomes on fire; it soon discovers luminous horizons; the ideas rush upon him precipitately. Could you take upon yourselves the burden of them? No; that which came with the fever of inspiration he wished to take advantage of, and for that reason—precisely for that reason—he locked himself up in his room and sent me away.
Car. (sadly to Dolores). Did I not say so? He would come—and to work.
Dol. Does he not know that Carmen is here?
Jav. They told us that on our entrance; but he pays attention to nothing, to nobody, when inspiration and glory and art cry aloud to him, “Come, we are waiting for you.”
Dol. However—— (Wishing to go.)
Car. No, for God’s sake! (Stopping her.) He must be allowed to work. If through me he should lose any of those grand ideas which now hover fondly about him, what pain and what remorse for me! Disturb him that he may come and speak to me? No, not so; I am not so selfish. I asked for nothing better. By no means can I consent. (Embraces Dolores; coughs and almost weeps.)
Dol. (with anxiety). What’s the matter with you?