Ernest. Fatality again! Either I have expressed myself ill, or you do not understand me. I know his worth. But when a desperate injury lies between men of courage, who knows what may happen? which of them may fall, and which may kill? And if this man's sword must strike Don Julian or Ernest, can you doubt which it ought to be? [Questions her with sad sincerity.]
Teodora. [In anguish] You!—oh, no—not that either.
Ernest. Why? If it is my fate? Nobody loses by my death, and I lose still less.
Teodora. For Heaven's sake, do not say that.[that.] [Barely able to repress her sobs.]
Ernest. What do I leave behind me? Neither friendship nor strong love. What woman is there to follow my corpse shedding a lover's tears?
Teodora. Last night I prayed for you—and you say that nobody——I could not bear you to die. [Vehemently.]
Ernest. Ah, we pray for any one; we only weep for one. [With passion.]
Teodora. [Startled.] Ernest!
Ernest. [Terrified by his own words.] What!
Teodora. [Moving further away.] Nothing.