"Je me meurs
Ah malheur
Ah je souffre
Mon ame s'envole."

The chorus formed a semi-circle just behind him. The women on one
side, the men on the other. They left much to be desired; apparently
scraped hastily together from heaven knew what sources, after the
manner of a management suddenly become economical. The women were
fat, elderly, and painfully homely; the men lean, osseous, and
distressed, in misfitting hose. But they had been conscientiously
drilled. They made all their gestures together, moved in masses
simultaneously, and, without ceasing, chanted over and over again:

"O terror, O blasfema."

The finale commenced. Everybody on the stage took a step forward,
beginning all over again upon a higher key. The soprano's voice
thrilled to the very chandelier. The orchestra redoubled its
efforts, the director beating time with hands, head, and body.

"Il perfido, l'ingrato"

thundered the basso.

"Ineffabil mistero,"

answered the baritone, striking his breast and pointing with his
sword; while all at once the soprano's voice, thrilling out again,