Florencio. I wonder what he can be driving at. Ah! What does he say? That you, that I....
Carolina. Go on, go on.
Florencio. "This woman and this man, the two greatest, the two pure, the two unselfish passions of my life, in whom my very being was consumed—how can I bring myself to confess it? I hardly dare admit it to myself! They are in love—they love each other madly—in secret—perhaps without even suspecting themselves."
Carolina. What do you think of that?
Florencio. Suspecting themselves.... "They are struggling to overcome their guilty passion, but how long will they continue to struggle? Yet I am sorry for them both. What ought I to do? I cannot sleep."
Carolina. What do you say?
Florencio. Impossible! He never wrote such letters. Besides, if he did, they ought never to have been published.
Carolina. But true or false, they have been published, and here they are. Ah! But this is nothing! You ought to see what he says farther on. He goes on communicating his observations, and there are some, to be perfectly frank, which nobody could have made but himself.
Florencio. You don't mean to tell me that you think these letters are genuine?
Carolina. They might be for all we know. He gives dates and details.