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There, it is almost ready!.... It is only for the sunset, we still have time.... My poor master! burning the dead is one thing; but the living!..... Oh! as soon as he has finished his business, I shall be free, I am leaving; I shall go look for a country where love does not always have a funeral pyre in perspective. How does one dare to marry in this one? If your wife dies, it is as good as being roasted; I do not want the life of my wife to be so dear to me. Even if she were to reason with me, I would not even dare to give her a slap... Oh! let us go, let us go.
SCENE II.
AZORA, MENDÈS.
D U E T.
A Z O R A.
Ah! ah! ah! I am dying.
I am suffocating... What misfortune!
M E N D È S.
Eh! but what a disgrace!
Why so much pain?
A Z O R A.
Mendès, pity my misfortune,
Ah! leave me, for pity's sake.
M E N D È S.
But tell me, for pity's sake,
The cause of your tears.
A Z O R A.
It is...
M E N D È S.
What?
A Z O R A.
What pain?
M E N D È S.
Why so much pain?
A Z O R A.
My poor husband Arbace.
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