Doña Ángela. That's it, my girl, weep. It will do you good. See how kind your father is. You must love him dearly.
Inés. With all my heart. When are you going? To-day? Is it not so?
Dr. Tomás. [Laughing at her fond assurances.] Ah, selfish girl! We are very fond of papa when he does something to please us? But if he did not go to the duchess's, should we be quite so fond of him—quite!—as now?
Inés. Just the same.
Dr. Tomás. [Doubtingly.] Quite the same?
Inés. [Maliciously.] It is possible I should be so sad that I might not think of saying it.
Dr. Tomás. I thought so.
Inés. Before, I felt something weigh upon my breast, and choke me. Now, without any effort—thus—spontaneously—as delicious tears of happiness flow—endearing words break from me. Before, I was only able to say: 'unhappy I, father!' Now, I don't think of myself, I think of him, and my heart rises to my lips upon a cry of love—'how dear you are to me!' [Again embraces her father.]
Don Lorenzo. Inés, my daughter!
Inés. And you also, mother, you also. [Embraces Doña Ángela. Don Lorenzo and Dr. Tomás move away from sofa, where Doña Ángela and Inés remain seated, and come to the middle of the stage.]
Dr. Tomás. Poor philosopher! Neither of those two has read a single page of all your books, and both know more than you do. You think yourself strong, and in their hands you are as soft as wax. You think yourself a sage, and in their arms you are an innocent, not
109
