Anna Goldhair _cowering with covered face in the shadow of the throne_. Hans Lorbass _and_ Coelestin _enter from the landing._ _Hans Lorbass_. Master!... No answer. _Coelestin_. His lair is empty. The hall seems forsaken. Nothing, but the sighing of the autumn wind. Not even a trace of the women that herd with him. _Hans Lorbass_. And before the door, the foe. _Coelestin_. We are to suffer for his sins. _Hans Lorbass_. Pah!--We! _Coelestin_. Since he so far betrayed morality as to draw to his lustful embraces the young maid with the golden hair, even from the very feet of his most virtuous spouse, it has gone ill with him and us. For half a year this shameless wanton bond has blazoned itself beneath this roof. _Hans Lorbass_. If I choose to cry him down, why it is my affair. I advise thee, old man, to let it be. _Coelestin_. Have I ever yet mingled with the crowd that boldly raise their heads against him? But now the foe hangs at our very heels,--and he, instead of showing fist in need, buries a thorn in our own flesh;-- must I still be silent? _Hans Lorbass_. Gabble or not, as thou choosest. Dost thou think the slime out of thy old mouth can make him slippery enough to-- _Coelestin_. Hark! [_A muffled drum-beat_]. The morning signal of the foe! _Hans Lorbass_ [_stretching out his arms_]. Come, mighty hour! _Coelestin_. There is one way ... some one might ... with more influence than I ... seek out the King and fetch him here. The tardy day still lies in heavy sleep . . wilt thou go? [Hans Lorbass _nods._] _Coelestin_. Good! [_Going out._] I am cold. _Hans Lorbass_. What? All empty?... Thou shadow there, give answer what thou art. What, Goldhair, thou? Asleep here on the stones? Where is the King?... The King, where is he? _Anna Goldhair_ [_gets up trembling_]. I do not know. _Hans Lorbass_. Is he asleep somewhere? _Anna Goldhair_. No. _Hans Lorbass_. Where have the women gone, then,--those wanton flaunting blossoms of his? _Anna Goldhair_. He sprang up from the table to-night and drove them out with scourging. _Hans Lorbass_. How was he before that? _Anna Goldhair_. His greeting long since stiffened into silence and sternness. All night long his feet have wandered up and down the echoing passages. _Hans Lorbass_. And to-night--which way did he go? [Anna Goldhair _motions towards the left._] _Hans Lorbass_. Give me a light. _Anna Goldhair_ [_as she takes a taper from the table and gives it to him_]. Hans! _Hans Lorbass_. Well? _Anna Goldhair_. Hans--dost thou know what the Queen says of me? _Hans Lorbass_. Queens are no friends of thine; the women will have none of thee now. Thou'dst best befriend thyself, and be thine own queen. [_He goes out._] [Anna Goldhair _cowers down again in the shadow of the throne. Then, from behind, the_ King._]