Juan (approaching also and contemplating Lazarus). Lord, to think of what this boy is going to be! The face foretells it. The aureola of talent!
Dol. He is very pale—very pale.
Juan. What would you have him to be? Fat as a German, and red as a beetroot? Then he would not be a genius.
Dol. However—such pallor!
Juan and Dolores are bent over Lazarus contemplating him with
affectionate care.
Juan. I am decidedly the father of a genius, and then (to Javier) they come to me with——
Jav. With what?
Juan. With nothing. (Aside.) With moral sermons, and with the law of heredity, and with all that stale trash. The father a hare-brained fellow, and the son a wise man.
Dol. But has nothing been amiss with him? Was it nothing more than fatigue?
Jav. Nothing more. You may withdraw: I shall stay until he awakes.