Clara.
[In a guttural whisper.] Ah, Frederick! no, no, no!
Rose. and Arthur.
[Turning in their chairs.] Eh—what——-? ah—h—h—h!
[As Clara, reaches her husband, he lurches forward into her arms.]
De Foenix.
[His eyes bolting.] Oh! who———<
Clara.
Frederick dear, wake!