Again a footstep. This time a rapid, haughty one—’tis that of Pollione. Well he knows the entrance to the house. He comes to see Norma. As he marks Adalgisa he starts. And she, the young maiden, says, “This is he—this is he who loves me.”
“He—Pollione!” See Norma standing proudly, and yet as though turned to stone.
“The very one.”
“He!—do I hear—do I see?”
O, the world of anger on her face as she looks upon the man before her. Now she knows why he has deserted her. Now she learns the meaning of his cold words and frequent absences. Then vengeance whispers her—she has but to call, and they shall both die—he, the traitor, and this weak, cruel girl! Then jealousy swept over her, and she eagerly looked at her rival. But Adalgisa coming trembling and kneeling near her, and standing far away from the Roman, she was full of pity, and she said:—
“I would that thou hadst died—I would that thou hadst died before thou hadst seen him.”
Threateningly raising his hand, he turned to go his way, but she commanded him to stay; and in spite of himself he did remain. Again rage possessed her.
“I read thy thoughts—but is she not in my power—can I not destroy her?”
“Thou shalt not do this!”
“And shalt thou stay my hand?”