BISKRA. Write: Lâ ilâha illâ 'llâh.
GUIMARD. [Writing] It is written.—And can I die now?
BISKRA. Now you can die—like a craven soldier who has deserted his people! And I am sure you'll get a handsome burial from the jackals that will chant the funeral hymn over your corpse. [She drums the signal for attack on the guitar] Can you hear the drums—the attack has begun—on the Faithful, who have the sun and the Simoom on their side—they are now advancing—from their hiding-places—[She makes a rattling noise on the guitar] The Franks are firing along the whole line—they have no chance to load again—the Arabs are firing at their leisure—the Franks are flying!
GUIMARD. [Rising] The Franks never flee!
BISKRA. The Franks will flee when they hear the call to retreat.
[She blows the signal for "retreat" on a flute which she has produced from under her burnoose.
GUIMARD. They are retreating—that's the signal—and I am here—[He tears off his epaulets] I am dead!
[He falls to the ground.
BISKRA. Yes, you are dead!—And you don't know that you have been dead a long time.
[She goes to the ossuary and takes from it a human skull.