Enrique. (Descending the stairs rapidly) You have killed her?
Zoraya. Poor child!—She is asleep!
Enrique. (Going to Zoraya) I spoke to her—she heard nothing. I raised her—she fell back cold.
Zoraya. She is asleep, I tell you.
Enrique. What power do you possess which will produce a sleep like death?
Zoraya. What does it matter so long as this is only the appearance of death!—She will sleep until the hour which I have set for her to awaken.—And this is your punishment: when she awakens she will be deaf to your voice, also distant and cold in your arms!—You will then understand that your true wife was not this angelic creature who wanted no other spouse than God, but the Moor, who gave you more love in a single clasp of her hand than this nun in the entire abandonment of her nerveless body, revolting at your caresses.
Enrique. (At her feet) What does it matter to me?—I shall not dispute with that virgin over her celestial spouse. And I shall be free for you, for you alone, without causing her grief, or me remorse.
Zoraya. (Drawing away) I do not care to put you to the test!
Enrique. You intend to leave?
Zoraya. Yes.