"Gardez-vous, jeune fiancée,
De l'amour qui donne la mort!"
Then everybody comes on, and the ballet begins. Towards the middle of the ballet, Lovette withdraws, tired; Ruthven, who has not let her go out of sight, follows her. Edgard soon perceives that neither Lovette nor his lord are present. He goes out in his turn. Cries are heard from the wing; Lovette runs on, terrified; a pistol-shot is heard: Lord Ruthven falls mortally wounded on the stage.
"He tried to dishonour my betrothed!" cries Edgard, who appears, his pistol still smoking in his hand.
Aubrey dashes towards the wounded man. Lord Ruthven still breathes; he asks to be left alone with his friend. Everybody goes off.
"One last promise, Aubrey," says Lord Ruthven.
"Oh, ask it, take my life!... it will be unbearable to me without thee," replies Aubrey.
"My friend, I only ask thee for profound secrecy for twelve hours."
"For twelve hours?"
"Promise me that Malvina shall not know anything of what has happened—that you will not do anything to avenge my death before the hour of one in the morning has struck.... Swear secrecy by my dying breath!..."