Recitative. She knocks at the door.
Osono. For pity’s sake, for charity, open the door and let me see but his sleeping face. See, I clasp my hands in supplication. Oh, how cruel!
Recitative. She throws herself on the ground, and bursts into tears unconscious of all around.
Osono. No, I will not complain, I will not grieve. If I saw him for a moment and he recognised me and clung to me, he would not let me go nor could I leave him. If I go home to-night, to-night I must marry; not even till to-morrow is respite given me. Then, farewell, farewell.
Recitative. But still she stands with her ear close to the door, expecting to hear her child’s voice and to see his face. Yet, not a sound is to be heard.
Osono. Ah, there is no help. This is the end.
Recitative. As she gives up hope and runs out, a big man muffled with only his eyes exposed, stops her on the way and seizes her, and before she can cry out, he draws his sword and, alas, cuts off her hair at the
root; and he puts his hand into her bosom and takes out its contents, and runs away no one knows whither.
Osono. How hateful, how provoking! Who was it that cut off my hair so cruelly and ran off even with the letter? If he is a robber of combs and hair-bars, let him rather kill me.