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.