GUIMARD. Who is laughing?
BISKRA. Elise—your wife.
GUIMARD. Oh, kill me! I don't want to live any longer! Life sickens me like sauerkraut at Saint-Doux—You there—do you know what Saint-Doux is? Lard! [He tries to spit] Not a drop of saliva left!—Water—water—or I'll bite you!
The wind outside has risen to a full storm.
BISKRA. [Puts her hand to her mouth and coughs] Now you are dying, Frank! Write down your last wishes while there is still time—Where is your note-book?
GUIMARD. [Takes out a note-book and a pencil] What am I to write?
BISKRA. When a man is to die, he thinks of his wife—and his child!
GUIMARD. [Writes] "Elise—I curse you! Simoom—I die——"
BISKRA. And then sign it, or it will not be valid as a testament.
GUIMARD. What shall I sign?