(Exit Chamberlain)
’T is penance night with us,
And this man is the mirror of our conscience,
Showing its foulest spots.
(Enter Bazaine)
Baz. Sire, I salute you.
Now Paris is the star that all eyes seek.
The Exposition draws the world to you,
Who glitter here as you were made for heaven.
Lou. Ay,
Here we would shine that none may see our star
I’ the West grow dark!... Now Maximilian?
Baz. He will be shot.
Lou. No jests! I ask you, sir,
What terms he may arrange for freedom.
Baz. None.
Lou. You speak not to a fool.