Ernest. What then do you want, father? I will swear by anything you wish. Oh, my father!
D. Julian. No oaths, or protests, or deceitful words.
Ernest. Then what? Only tell me.
Teodora. Yes, what, Julian?
D. Julian. Deeds.
Ernest. What does he wish, Teodora? What does he ask of us?
Teodora. I don't know. Oh, what are we to do, Ernest?
D. Julian. [Watching them in feverish distrust.] Ah, you would even deceive me to my face! You are plotting together, wretched traitors! I see it.
Ernest. It is fever that misleads you—not the testimony of your eyes.
D. Julian. Fever, yes. And since fever is fire, it has burnt away the bandage with which before you two had blinded me, and at last I see you for what you are. And now!—but why these glances at one another? Why, traitors? Why do your eyes gleam so? Tell me, Ernest. There are no tears in them to make them shine. Come nearer—nearer to me. [Draws Ernest to him, bends his head, and then succeeds in thrusting him upon his knees. Thus Teodora is on one side of Don Julian and Ernest at his feet. Don Julian passes his hand across the young man's eyes.] You see—no tears—they are quite dry.