BAP. (cataleptic with fear.) Lordy! Lordy!
BELLA. Oh hush, Baptiste, you give me the shivers. (to Mariana.) I’m glad I brought my cordial bottle, in case we get too nervous.
BAP. Oh, Miss Bella, yo plumb rash to fly so in de face o’ Providence! Lordy, (kneels.) please make ’em change dey mine, seein’ I cyarn do nuttin, an’ ef not, pertec dis po’ ole nigger who done pray to you an’ who bin yo good an’ faithful sarvent.... Yes, Lord, I trus yo full an’ free.... (a stray shot sounds close and loud; Bella starts, dropping her cordial bottle; Baptiste jumps up.) Gawd A’mighty, das dang’ous! (exit running.)
BELLA. Oh, I think we had better go, too. (takes Mariana’s arm; half pulls her off; enter Pedro.)
PED. (scantily clad.) I made up my mind to escape. I’ve done it. Hungry—chilled to the bone—with blood hounds on my track—But if every other purpose I ever had in life fail, I will accomplish that of my hate for Lafitte. (reaches for his pistol; holds his hand out; looks at it.) Curse this cold! I can scarcely hold my pistol. (sees the cordial bottle; picks it up.) Ah! (takes a drink; slaps the stopper back on and throws the bottle down; makes a wry face.) That’s queer tasting stuff. (the firing has ceased; enter Lafitte.)
LAF. (anxiously.) Surely she could not have been so imprudent—(Pedro sees him; creeps up behind him; aims waveringly.)
PED. (in choking rage.) Damn— (falls; dies; Lafitte turns; sees Pedro; enter Mariana.)
MAR. Jean! (Lafitte starts; throws his cloak over Pedro’s body.) You are not hurt?
LAF. Not hurt, sweetheart.