[Helpless]: What is the matter, Zinida darling?
Mancini
[Running about]: She must quiet down. Get out, get out—vagabonds! I'll fix everything, Papa Briquet. The wrap—where's the wrap? She's cold. [A clown hands it to him; they cover her.]
Tilly
[Timidly]: Wouldn't you like some moosic?
Mancini
[Giving her some cognac]: Drink, Duchess, drink! Drink it all—that's it. [Zinida drinks it like water, evidently not noticing the taste. She shivers. The clowns disappear one by one. Consuelo, with a sudden flexible movement, falls on her knees before Zinida and kisses her hands, warming them between her own.]
Consuelo
Dear, dear, you are cold! Poor little hands, dear good one, beloved one——
Zinida