GUIMARD. The hunt at Bab-el-Wad? That's right!—Was it a beaver-coloured——?
BISKRA. Bitch? Yes.—There you see. And she bit you in the calf. Can't you feel the sting of the wound?
GUIMARD. [Reaches out a hand to feel his calf and pricks himself on the aloe] Yes, I can feel it.—Water! Water!
BISKRA. [Handing him the sand-filled bowl] Drink, drink!
GUIMARD. No, I cannot! Holy Mother of God—I have rabies!
BISKRA. Don't be afraid! I shall cure you, and drive out the demon by the help of music, which is all-powerful. Listen!
GUIMARD. [Screaming] Ali! Ali! No music; I can't stand it! And how could it help me?
BISKRA. If music can tame the treacherous spirit of the snake, don't you think it may conquer that of a mad dog? Listen! [She sings and accompanies herself on the guitar] Biskra-biskra, Biskra-biskra, Biskra-biskra! Simoom! Simoom!
YUSUF. [Responding from below] Simoom! Simoom!
GUIMARD. What is that you are singing, Ali?