Teodora—What do you wish?
Julian—Deeds!
Ernest—What does he desire, Teodora? What would he have us do?
Teodora—I do not know. What can we do, what can we do, Ernest?
Julian [watching them with instinctive distrust]—Ah, would you deceive me to my very face? You are laying your plans together, wretches! Do I not see it?
Ernest—These are the imaginings of fever.
Julian—Fever, yes! The fire of fever has consumed the bandage with which you both blindfolded me, and at last I see clearly! And now why do you gaze on each other? why, traitors? Why do your eyes shine, Ernest? Speak. Their brightness is not the brightness of tears. Come nearer—nearer still.
[Draws Ernest to him, bends his head, and so forces him to his knees. Don Julian thus remains between Teodora, who stands at his side, and Ernest, who kneels at his feet. Don Julian passes his hand over Ernest's eyes.]
Julian—I was right—It is not with tears! They are dry!
Ernest—Pardon!—Pardon!