Where are you going?...
Mary Magdalene (as though recovering consciousness with difficulty, in a stifled, hesitating voice, which she vainly tries to render firmer)
Wherever he wishes....
Verus
No, not while I am here!...
Mary Magdalene (throwing herself convulsively into Verus’ arms)
Verus!...
Verus (clasping her violently)
Have no fear, Magdalene. Nothing can touch you in these arms which close round you. The madness of this land seems more contagious than its pestilence and more tenacious than its leprosy; but Roman reason does not waver, like the rest, at the first foul breath that issues from a tomb. We will cut this matter short. (To Lazarus) You I will not touch with my sword. It shrinks from corpses, even when they walk and drive the trade which you do. It is for the slaves to show you the road back to the sepulchre.... Where are the slaves?... But, before going, look at this and tell your master that the woman whom he covets—by the gods, he lacks neither taste nor daring!—has sought a refuge in these arms, which will know how to defend her against his barbarous witchcraft and his childish spells. Above all, repeat to him what I am about to say: he will perhaps understand. His life, which will not be a long one, after what he has done, lies wholly in this hand which drives you hence. I have spoken. Go. She will not follow you....
Mary Magdalene (struggling to escape from Verus’ embrace, while, in the effort, her hair becomes loosened and falls over her shoulders)