[_They go away. Pause._]
ZOB [_to the Tartar_] Oh-ho! Spring will soon be here, little brother,
and it'll be quite warm. In the villages the peasants are already
making ready their ploughs and harrows, preparing to till . . . and we
. . . Hassan? Snoring already? Damned Mohammedan!
BUBNOFF. Tartars love sleep!
KLESHTCH [_in centre of room, staring in front of him_] What am I to
do now?
ZOB. Lie down and sleep--that's all . . .
KLESHTCH [_softly_] But--she . . . how about . . .
[_No one answers him. Satine and the Actor enter._]
THE ACTOR [_yelling_] Old man! Come here, my trusted Duke of Kent!
SATINE. Miklookha-Maklai is coming--ho-ho!
THE ACTOR. It has been decided upon! Old man, where's the town--where
are you?
SATINE. Fata Morgana, the old man bilked you from top to bottom!
There's nothing--no towns--no people--nothing at all!
THE ACTOR. You lie!
THE TARTAR [_jumping up_] Where's the boss? I'm going to the boss. If
I can't sleep, I won't pay! Corpses--drunkards . . . [_Exit quickly_]
[_Satine looks after him and whistles._]
BUBNOFF [_in a sleepy voice_] Go to bed, boys--be quiet . . . night is
for sleep . . .
THE ACTOR. Yes--so--there's a corpse here. . . . "Our net fished up a
corpse. . . ." Verses--by Béranger. . . .
SATINE [_screams_] The dead can't hear . . . the dead do not
feel--Scream!--Roar! . . . the dead don't hear!
[_In the doorway appears Luka._]