Guimard. Yes, that is it then. [Cries.] My Georges! Georges! My dear child! Elise, my wife, comfort me. Help me! [Gropes arcruvtd him.] Where are you, dear? Elise? Have you gone away from me? Answer! Call out the name of thy loved one. [A VOICE from the roof: Jules! Jules!] Jules? My name is What is my name! My name is Charles! And she called Jules! Elise, dear wife, answer me, since your spirit is here. I know it, and you promised me never to love anyone else. [VOICES laugh.] Who is laughing?
Biskra. Elise, your wife.
Guimard. Kill me. I will not live any more. Life is as loathsome to me as sauerkraut in St. Doux. Do you know what St. Doux is, you? Lard! [Spits in front of himself.] I have no more saliva left. Water! Water!—otherwise I’ll bite you. [Full storm outside.]
Biskra.[Puts her finger to her lips and coughs.] Now, die, Frank! Write thy last will while there is time. Where is thy note-book?
Guimard.[Takes up a note-book and a pen.] What shall I write?
Biskra. A man thinks of his wife when he has got to die—and of his child.
Guimard.[Writes.] “Elise—I curse thee! Simoon—I die.”
Biskra. And sign it thus, otherwise the will is worth nothing.
Guimard. How shall I sign it?
Biskra. Write: la ilaha all allah.