[_Pause. Then a woman's shriek is heard, and the ringing fall of a man's body. A dull murmur of many voices follows._] _Skoell_. That was a blow! [_Shouting down._] Hail to King Wid-- _Hans_ [_seizes him like lightning and hurls him to the ground, then springs on the bench, waving his sword above his head and shouting._] Back from his body! You men below there, is there one that wears a sword and armor? _Voices_. I!--I!--I! _Hans Lorbass_. He will break through the lists with me and drive away this robber of Samland! [_Cries of rage, together with the crashing of the lists_. Hans Lorbass _storms upon the guards, who retreat to one side, and dashes below. The_ Queen _comes upon the scene half unconscious, supported by_ Anna Goldhair _and her other women. The_ Chancellor _and other nobles_. Skoell _has squeezed himself behind the corner pillar on the right._] _Coelestin_ [_turning from the_ Queen _to a group of men who stand gazing down on the tumult below_]. How goes it now? _Chancellor_. That man whose summons hurled the brand of mutiny among us, look how great and small, man and woman crowd around him shouting and hustle the Duke to the door! There, he is gone!--the other left! Who was the devil? [_The uproar grows fainter and seems to lose itself in the distance._] _Coelestin_. I know not whether he was a devil or an angel; for without his shriek of hate we should still be lying beneath the foot of tyranny, bleeding and weaponless as he who lies below. [Chancellor _motions to him, pointing towards the_ Queen, _who has revived and is looking about her wildly._] _Queen_. Where is the stranger? Why are you silent? I saw him fall ... did he not conquer? _A Messenger_ [_comes hurrying up the steps_]. Hail to our Queen! I bring glad tidings: the accursed Duke has fled upon a stolen horse. The people vent their long-stored spleen upon his rascally followers. _Skoell_. Woe is me! Alas! [_He slips behind the church door and disappears._] _Queen_. And that youth who smiling received the sacrificial blow for you--think you his life so valueless that no one even remembers him as a poor reward? Why are you silent? Will no one speak? _Chancellor_. We know not whether he is dead, or lives, though sorely wounded. In every thrust he far over-reckoned the reach of his sword. A more grievous trouble than this, my Lady Queen, avails to banish our rejoicing; a broken oath is here, an unatoned-for-- _Coelestin_. Look! What a sight! [Hans Lorbass _supports the sorely wounded_ Prince Witte _up the steps, lets him sink upon the bench to the left, and stands before him with drawn sword, like a guard._] _Hans_. Away from here! Whoever loves his life, whether man or woman, comes not too near! _Queen_ [_approaching him_]. Not even I, my friend? _Hans_ [_embarrassed, yielding_]. Thou, Lady,--yes. _Queen_ [_takes off her veil, and wipes the blood from the face of the_ Prince]. Send for physicians that he may be saved.