erless, with all the love in our hearts, to assure their happiness.
Luisa. Why, mamma!
Carmen. Forgive me. Now you understand why the prospect of my son's marriage appalls me. I have lived as I am not willing that he should live, as I am not willing that my daughter should live. Luisa might have married her cousin Manolo when she was still very young. It is easy to see what the result would have been, because he has married, and has five children. Everything spells trouble and anxiety in that house. The wife is ill, the children are delicate. No love is strong enough to hold out. The gentlest nature must become crabbed and distorted, and patience is exhausted at last. Bitter disputes take place at all hours; words are exchanged, as a mere matter of habit, which give offense. If love had been all of life, there would not have been a happier woman in the world than I; none was ever loved more dearly by her husband, or was more fortunate in her children. And yet, if you were to ask me: "Would you be willing to live your life over again?" I should reply: "No, no! A thousand times no! I have had enough!" And now to think that my life may be lived over again, that it may be lived again by my children… Oh, my poor boy, my poor boy!
Pepe. Who knows? Julio may be very happy—it depends upon his disposition, and upon circumstances. Suppose that he should be fortunate enough not to have children? Or he may be lucky in the lottery, or they both may die on their honeymoon, and be satisfied!
Carmen. That is a terrible thing to say.
Pepe. In all probability nature will take her course, and it will be merely one marriage more. The world has no intention of coming to an end, Doña Carmen, and to face the
