Tim. (turning round in ill humour). Have you not done? Have you not done, Paca.
Paca. Well, I remained to see—if you gentlemen wanted anything, that’s all.
Tim. Nothing, you may go to the kitchen.
Paca. Very well, Don Timoteo: to the kitchen. Ah! my God! (She takes a low chair on to the terrace, sits dawn and fans herself.)
Tim. I tell you that I can look at nothing which surrounds me without being moved. The girls from Sevilla, the girls from Malaga, the girls from Tarifa! But let us make a full stop. I am perverting you, young man: and at my age that’s a villainous thing. But the fact is that there were certain girls from Sevilla and Malaga and Cadiz, and certain girls from Tarifa.
Paca gives a very big sigh on the balcony.
Who’s that sighing? The devil of a woman, there’s nothing dismal in what we are saying—are you here still?
Paca (from the balcony and without rising). To see if Don Timoteo wanted anything.
Tim. I do want something, and this gentleman wants something. Bring us a few glasses.[3]