NUBTA: 
  Yet I think he does not believe it, for I heard him telling our
  mistress what to do if Naaman should return.

KHAMMA: 
  What, then?

NUBTA: 
  She will claim him as her husband.  Was she not wedded to him before
  the god?  That is a sacred bond.  Only the High Priest can loose it. 
  She will keep her hold on Naaman for the sake of the House of Rimmon. 
  A wife knows her husband’s secrets, she can tell——­

[Enter SHUMAKIM, with his flagon, walking unsteadily.]

KHAMMA: 
  Hush! here comes the fool Shumakim.  He is never sober.

SHUMAKIM:  [Laughing.]
  Are there two of you?  I see two, but that is no proof.  I think there
  is only one, but beautiful enough for two.  What were you talking to
  yourself about, fairest one!

KHAMMA: 
  About the lady Tsarpi, fool, and what she would do if her husband
  returned.

SHUMAKIM: 
  Fie! fie!  That is no talk for an innocent fool to hear.  Has she a
  husband?

NUBTA: 
  You know very well that she is the wife of Lord Naaman.

SHUMAKIM: 
  I remember that she used to wear his name and his jewels.  But I
  thought he had exchanged her,—­for a leprosy.

KHAMMA: 
  You must have heard that he went away to Samaria to look for healing. 
  Some say that he died on the journey; but others say he has been
  cured, and is on his way home to his wife.

SHUMAKIM: 
  It may be, for this is a mad world, and men never know when they are
  well off,—­except us fools.  But he must come soon if he would find
  his wife as he parted from her,—­or the city where he left it.  The
  Assyrians have returned with a greater army, and this time they will
  make an end of us.  There is no Naaman how, and the Bull will devour
  Damascus like a bunch of leeks, flowers and all,—­flowers and all,
  my double-budded fair one!  Are you not afraid?

NUBTA: 
  We belong to the House of Rimmon.  He will protect us.

SHUMAKIM: 
  What?  The mighty one who hides behind the curtain there, and tells
  his secrets to Rezon?  No doubt he will take care of you, and of
  himself.  Whatever game is played, the gods never lose.  But for the
  protection, of the common people and the rest of us fools, I would
  rather have Naaman at the head of an army than all the sacred images
  between here and Babylon.

KHAMMA: 
  You are a wicked old man.  You mock the god.  He will punish you.

SHUMAKIM:  [Bitterly.]
  How can he punish me?  Has he not already made me a fool?  Hark, here
  comes my brother the High Priest, and my brother the King.  Rimmon
  made us all; but nobody knows who made Rimmon, except the High
  Priest; and he will never tell.

[Gongs and cymbals sound.  Enter REZON with priests, and the King with courtiers.  They take their seats.  A throng of Khali and Kharimati come in, TSARPI presiding; a sacred dance is performed with torches, burning incense, and chanting, in which TSARPI leads.]