[Ghastly pale, frantic with rage.]
Away with him, I ordered. He annoys me.
[Conducted from the tent by the soldiers and followed by Cos, Castrillon and Almonte, while going out, raises his arms to Heaven and calls out in a tone of heart-rending despair:]
Oh, Elsie, Elsie! God protect thee now!
What means that fool?—I understood him not,
And yet his words spoiled all my pleasure's joy,
And thrilled throughout my frame with shuddering force.
While his reproach and his inane defiance
Could not affect my sensibility.
What could he mean?—Pooh, pooh, it was the rage,
The madness of discomfiture, nought else.
So let us go and see if our converse
With her, his daughter, will succeed the better.
[Taking his hat and sword, Santa Anna leaves the tent.]