Zoraiya (conscientiously). From this hour I do renounce the creed whose fatal worship of bad passions has led thee on, step by step, to this blood-guiltiness.
Zara. Peace, peace, Zoraiya! Degrade not thyself thus for one not of thy blood nor race.
Zoraiya. Thy brother’s child not of our blood nor race! Thy crime has made thee mad.
Zara. Thou shalt see. I would have word with the Marchioness de Moya.
Marchioness de Moya (springing forward). Why namest thou me, woman? O Queen! why does this Moslem woman call on me?
Isabella (with uplifted eyes). Pray, pray! my friend. Naught else can help thee in this hour which I see coming. For, oh! this is Heaven-ordained.
Zara. Thou hadst a daughter?
Marchioness de Moya. I have one.
Zara. One lost to thee in infancy, when Hiaya stormed Alhama. If thou wouldst once again embrace her, take in thine arms thy dying child.
Marchioness de Moya (unsteadily). Thy hatred to our race is not unknown. Thou sayest this, seeking to torture me. But know, ’twere not torture, ’twere happiness, to believe thy words were words of truth.