Zoraya. Yes! All of your duties are sacred except those towards me!—and you hope, do you not, that I have considered them as fulfilled?
Enrique. Yes!
Zoraya. That I shall receive your return to me with open arms?
Enrique. That you will pardon me, at least, and join me in returning faithfully to our love.
Zoraya. Oh, indeed!—More in love than ever! The contrast of the Moor and the Spaniard! A variety of pleasures always prevents one’s taste from becoming stale!
Enrique. (Seating himself near her) But I do not love this child!—I do not love her!
Zoraya. (Rising, going to the left) Yes, this is the cry of the brutal, egotistical male!—You do not love her!—But it is to her that you sacrifice me.—You do not love her, but I stop you on the threshold of her room!—A few paces from her bed!—I should scorn myself as a woman of the street if I could discover in my mind a single thought which is not for you!—I should curse my eyes if they gazed for an instant on any other face but yours!—Where could I wash away the stain if any other lips than yours touched mine?—And it appears natural for you to be at the same time the husband of your wife and the lover of your mistress—to run from one to the other and to bring to me smiling the dessert of your nuptial night!—And it is you who say to me: “Believe nothing, nothing in the world but my love for you!” Ah, coward!—coward! liar!—Here is your love!—Here it is!
Enrique. (Standing) My dear Zoraya!
Zoraya. (Quickly, restraining her tears) Oh, leave me! Wretch! Leave me! I hate you!
She leans sobbing against a pillar at the left.