On the stage itself the act was drawing to a close.  There had just been a duel.  The baritone lay stretched upon the floor at left centre, his sword fallen at some paces from him.  On the left of the scene, front, stood the tenor who had killed him, singing in his highest register, very red in the face, continually striking his hand upon his breast and pointing with his sword toward his fallen enemy.  Next him on the extreme left was his friend the basso, in high leather boots, growling from time to time during a sustained chord, “Mon honneur et ma foi.” In the centre of the stage, the soprano, the star, the prima donna chanted a fervid but ineffectual appeal to the tenor who cried, “Jamais, jamais!” striking his breast and pointing with his sword.  The prima donna cried, “Ah, mon Dieu, ayez pitie de moi.” Her confidante, the mezzo-soprano, came to her support, repeating her words with an impersonal meaning, “Ayez pitie d’elle.” “Mon honneur et ma foi,” growled the basso.  The contralto, dressed as a man, turned toward the audience on the extreme right, bringing out her notes with a wrench and a twist of her body and neck, and intoning, “Ah, malheureuse!  Mon Dieu, ayez pitie d’elle.”

The leader of the chorus, costumed as the captain of the watch, leaned over the dead baritone and sang, “Il est mort, il est mort.  Mon Dieu, ayez pitie de lui.” The soldiers of the watch were huddled together immediately back of him.  They wore tin helmets, much too large, and green peplums, and repeated his words continually.

The chorus itself was made up of citizens of the town; it was in a semicircle at the back of the stage—­the men on one side, the women on the other.  They made all their gestures together and chanted without ceasing:  “O horreur, O mystere!  Il est mort.  Mon Dieu, ayez pitie de nous!”

“De Grace!” cried the prima donna.

“Jamais, jamais!” echoed the tenor, striking his breast and pointing with his sword.

“O mystere!” chanted the chorus, while the basso struck his hand upon his sword hilt, growling “Mon honneur et ma foi.”

The orchestra redoubled.  The finale began; all the pieces of the orchestra, all the voices on the stage, commenced over again very loud.  They all took a step forward, and the rhythm became more rapid, till it reached a climax where the prima donna’s voice jumped to a C in alt, holding it long enough for the basso to thunder, “Mon honneur et ma foi” twice.  Then they all struck the attitudes for the closing tableau and in one last burst of music sang all together, “Mon Dieu, ayez pitie de moi” and “de lui” and “d’elle” and “de nous.”  Then the orchestra closed with a long roll of the kettle-drums, and the prima donna fainted into the arms of her confidante.  The curtain fell.