"So, so. And what is it?"
"It is paid with the knife," grimly answers José, as he draws his blade.
"Ah," laughs the Toreador, "then you are the dragoon of whom Carmen has wearied. I am in luck to have met you so soon."
He, too, draws. The knives clash, as the men, the one a soldier, the other a bullfighter, skilfully thrust and parry. But Don José's is the better weapon, for, as he catches one of Escamillo's thrusts on his blade, the Toreador's knife snaps short. It would be a fatal mishap for Escamillo, did not at that moment the gypsies and smugglers, recalled by the shot, hurry in and separate the combatants. Unruffled by his misadventure, especially as his ardent glances meet an answering gleam in Carmen's eyes, the Toreador invites the entire band to the coming bullfight in Seville, in which he is to figure. With a glad shout they assent.
"Don't be angry, dragoon," he adds tauntingly. "We may meet again."
For answer Don José seeks to rush at him, but some of the smugglers hold him back, while the Toreador leisurely goes his way.
The smugglers make ready to depart again. One of them, however, spies Micaela. She is led down. Don José is reluctant to comply with her pleas to go away with her. The fact that Carmen urges him to do what the girl says only arouses his jealousy. But when at last Micaela tells him that his mother is dying of a broken heart for him, he makes ready to go.
In the distance Escamillo is heard singing:
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"Toreador, on guard e'er be! Thou shalt read, in her dark eyes, Hopes of victory. Her love is the prize!" |
Carmen listens, as if enraptured, and starts to run after him. Don José with bared knife bars the way; then leaves with Micaela.