Ter. Because last night she was very ill: very ill indeed.
Laz. (starting up). My mother!
Ter. Yes, señor. I say that it must have been the nerves. How she cried: how she twisted her arms! Indeed I wanted to send an express messenger for you to come back at once.
Laz. Ah! my God, my poor mother! and why was I not informed? I would have mounted on horseback; and in one hour—here.
Ter. Because the señora would not have it so. “Silence, not a word to anybody,” so she said, and an order from her is an order.
Laz. But how is it possible? My father said nothing to me!
Ter. He was not informed: he went to the theatre, afterwards to the Casino with Don Timoteo and Don Nemesio; he returned late, and as the señora had given orders—“to nobody”—nothing was said to him; and he knew nothing.
Laz. But how was it? Why was it? She who is never ill!
Ter. I don’t know. The señora dined early and alone. Afterwards she went out. She came back at ten o’clock: she could scarcely enter her room, and immediately fell to the ground—just like a tower that falls.
Laz. My God! my God! And you never informed me!