Hafiz—What manner of brutes are these Christians!
Hassan—What manner of fools are we to be prisoners.
Hafiz—No man could have forseen the trick of the Spanish Rodriguez, may his forehead be blackened with mud!
(Cafour sways back and forth, moaning.)
Hafiz—Soldiers everywhere. There is no chance to escape, unless we go over the wall.
Hassan—(Looking over wall.) We would perish.
Cafour—(To Hafiz.) What have they done with my son?
Hafiz—The boy has gone the way of death.
Cafour—Death! And thou his father, stand calmly by, and know him dead!
Hafiz—Have I not other sons to avenge him?