or hope, because life would be upon us quickly, a life of continual hardship, of ceaseless struggle with disappointment, with humiliation, until in the end our love itself would be destroyed.
Emilia. No, never. I could bear any privations gladly, I could face them all, and it would be no sacrifice, but I cannot go away—I cannot do that! It is too much to ask.
Julio. Do you prefer a daily sacrifice to one supreme, heroic effort? Haven't you the courage to leave your mother, when you have it to embitter her life day by day when she sees you in tears because of discomforts and deprivations which you suffer, or when you see her in them, suffering for you, though you may have courage not to let her see you cry?
Emilia. No, Julio, you must not ask that of me, it would be too cruel. It would kill my mother. Think it over. I could never be an ungrateful child.
Julio. That is to say I am an ungrateful son. If I am, remember it is for you. It is more honest, it is the nobler way for us, for all, to prevent unhappiness, to obviate recrimination, although at first it may seem more difficult, more cruel.
Emilia. But my mother will consent gladly, and we can live here very happily. The first few years we shall manage somehow, as best we may; my family has connections, and they will help us in the end. You will be able to find other employment. Who knows? If we are careful, and prepared to be patient, we shall surely discover some plan.
Julio. Yes, by petty intrigue, by scheming for humiliating recommendations, by patronage and influence; you are willing to do your part in devious ways. You have only to add that with a wife such as you, any man who is complaisant enough could aspire to the top.
Emilia. Be careful what you say, Julio!
