Florencio. I see that you feel it deeply! you are touched. So am I. It is foolish to attempt to conceal it.
Carolina. I don't know how to express it, but—I am upset.
Florencio. Don't forget the pictures, however, especially the one where the three of us were taken together on the second platform of the Eiffel tower. It was particularly good.
Carolina. Yes, something out of the ordinary. Don't you think, perhaps, that our private affairs, our family life.... How do we know whether at this time, in our situation....
Florencio. What are you afraid of? That is the woman of it. How narrow-minded! You ought to be above such pettiness after having been the wife of such an intelligent man. Every detail of the private life of the great has its interest for history. Those of us who knew him, who in a certain sense were his colaborers—you will not accuse me of immodesty—his colaborers in the great work of his life, owe it to history to see that the truth be known.
Carolina. Nevertheless I hardly think I would print those letters—much less the verses. Do you remember what they said?
Florencio. Of course, I remember:
"Like a moth on a pin I preserve all your kisses!..."
Everybody makes allowances for poetry. Nobody is going to take seriously what he reads in a poem. He married you anyway. Why should any one object?
Carolina. Stop, Florencio! What are you talking about? We are making ourselves ridiculous.