_The Young Prince_. How long? _Hans Lorbass_. Until the drums sound the attack. _The Young Prince_. Soon? _Hans Lorbass_. Very soon. _The Young Prince_. Oh, that is splendid! And why did the father go up to his tower? _Hans Lorbass_. Because ... If I knew whether this young blood would be poured out in vain. To every foulness God created he has given a tongue to shriek: "Behold my purpose!" And such a deed as this to-day ... but no! "If thou wert not!" _The Young Prince_. If I were not,--what then? _Hans Lorbass_. Wha--? Why? His sick desires, his failing deeds, the dreams that mock his brain, that make the right seem wrong,--if he might see a wish of his become a fact, as if by magic power, perhaps that knowledge of renewed strength might scatter his gloom to its accursed source and set him free. Now show thy worth and bleed here quietly on my breast--what dost thou there! _The Young Prince_ [_playing about meanwhile has drawn the sword from its sheath_]. I am learning to carry the King's sword. Forward! Hasten, the foe will come! Very well. Then I shall be the victor. _Hans Lorbass_. Put it down! _The Young Prince_. Ah, no! _Hans Lorbass_. Put it down! _The Young Prince_. Oh-oo! That is sharp! _Hans Lorbass_. Thou knowest who alone may carry that? _The Young Prince_. The King. _Hans Lorbass_. Well then. _The Young Prince_. But he left it there! _Hans Lorbass_ [_sternly_]. To take it up again. [_Draws his sword._] _The Young Prince_. Wait! I will kill thee! [_He has grasped the sword in both hands, and thrusting at Hans, who does not see him, he wounds him on the hand._] _Hans Lorbass_ [_laughing grimly_]. The fiend torment-- _The Young Prince_. Thou bleedest--O me! _Hans Lorbass_. The very weakness of this child avenges itself in death. _The Young Prince_. Wilt thou not scold me! [_Unfastening his neckerchief_] Take my kerchief,--ah, please! Wrap it about thy hand. Quick! _Hans Lorbass_. Is it intended for a sign to me to turn back in my path? The wish was there, but who knows when he cherished it, whether he was not so rent by torment, so quite unmanned as to harbor a thought that sprang therefrom? He must ... Yea, and I must. The hour will slip away.... [_Drums sound in the distance._] Hark, hark! There it is,--the time has come. [_Drums._] Again! _The Young Prince_. Is that the signal? _Hans Lorbass_. What signal? _The Young Prince_. For the attack? _Hans Lorbass_. Yes. For the attack and-- _The Young Prince_. What happiness! Is it not, Hans! If I were grown! If I were a man! _Hans Lorbass_. Come here! _The Young Prince_. Why dost thou look at me so sternly? Just like the father.... Wouldst thou strike me? No, thou shalt not.... I am a king's son. _Hans Lorbass_. Come here!