ng him._] Signor Evarist!

_Evarist._ There she is, there she is! Oh, I am in despair!

_Nina._ What, what! the world is not come to an end because of this!

_Candida._ [_Calls more loudly._] Signor Evarist!

_Evarist._ Oh, Candida, my dearest! I am the most miserable, the most
wretched man in the world!

_Candida._ What! you can't get the fan?

_Nina._ [_Aside._] She guesses it at once!

_Evarist._ If you knew what a coil of complications, and all to my
injury! It is too true, the fan is lost, and it is not possible to find
it as yet.

_Candida._ Oh, I know where it is!

_Evarist._ Where? where? If you could give us some hint!

_Nina._ [_To_ Evarist.] Who knows? Some one may have found it.

_Candida._ The fan will be in the hands of her to whom you gave it, and
who will not give it up, and she is right.

_Nina._ [_To_ Candida.] This is not true.

_Candida._ Be silent!

_Evarist._ I swear to you on my honour--

_Candida._ It is enough! My decision is made! I am astonished at you, to
prefer a peasant girl to me. [_Exit._

_Nina._ Peasant girl! What does she mean?

_Evarist._ I swear to Heaven, you are the cause of all my miseries,
which will be my death! She has decided! Well, I have decided too; I
will await my rival here, and will challenge him. Either he or I must
fall! And all this is your fault, Nina!

_Nina._ I go, or I shall lose my reason. [_She turns slowly towards her
house._]

_Evarist._ How passion consumes me! My heart thumps, my brain is in a
whirl, my breath comes heavily. I can scarcely stand! Oh, who will help
me? [_He staggers towards a chair._]

_Nina._ [_Turns round and sees him._] What is this? What do I see? He is
dying! Help, help! Here, Moracchio! here, Limonato!

SCENE VIII.

Limonato _from the cafe with two cups on a tray._ Moracchio _runs from
his house to succour_ Evarist.

_Crispino._ [_Comes out of the side street._] Oh, there is Signor
Evarist. But what is the matter?

_Nina._ Water, water!

_Crispino._ Wine, wine!

_Limonato._ Give him wine. I will just carry these cups to the inn.

_Moracchio._ Courage, courage, sir! He is in love; that is his malady.

_Timoteo._ [_Comes out of his shop._] What is the matter?

_Moracchio._ Come here, Timoteo.

_Nina._ Yes, do you help.

_Timoteo._ What is the matter?

_Nina._ He has fainted.

_Timoteo._ There I can help.

_Nina._ The poor gentleman, he is in love.

_Crispino._ [_With a bottle of wine._