_King_ [_startled, bewildered_]. Why do ye stand there so amazed? Do ye not know me? I am he, your King, your much-loved King, he with whose hero-tread treason has entered in your flock, into your hearts. _Queen_ [_coming forward_]. My King! _King_ [_reeling back_]. Thou! Thou hast come here,--into this den where lust holds sway? Burst open all the windows wide! Perfume the air with fine resin! Fetch sage and thyme and peppermint, that the fumes of this place may not attaint her breath! Hasten! Faded and withered, let them-- _Coelestin_ [_whispers_]. My lord, where hast thou left the Prince? _King_. What? Who? The--the--am I the Prince's keeper? _Queen_. My King, the battle rages now already about the castle walls. The door still holds. The people wait, counting their heart-throbs till thou comest, trusting in thee still. There is yet time. There lies the kingly sword and waits for thee. _King_ [_to himself_]. If Hans understood me rightly-- _Queen_. Stoop to it. It is worth the stooping for. _King_. Thinkest thou?... Still?... And that this hand is worthy, too, to raise it? _Queen_. I trust in it as in immortal life. _King_. Believest thou also that miracles still come to pass? _Queen_. I believe in thee. _King_. Then--[_he stoops, but starts back with a shriek._] Blood! There is blood on it! Coelestine! Approach, lean down. Nearer. Thou hast asked me just now, only in pretence, where I ... I ask thee, with whom hast _thou_ left the Prince? _Coelestin_. Hans Lorbass was with him. _King_. Alone? _Coelestin_. Alone. _King_. Yes?... It is well.... See how the red shines bright on the gray steel! The life that coursed within this blade cannot die--it lives--it lives and drags me down, a death-devoted man, unto a doubly shameful end. _Chancellor_ [_to the_ Queen]. Speak again before this madness gains upon him! _Queen_. My King. _King_. Ha! The angel of destruction broods over us.... Where is thy child? Where is thy child? _Queen_. I know that he is safe, for the most faithful of the faithful guards him. Think of thyself and of thy sword. _King_. An hour since was this blade still clean.... I seemed too great--nay, nay, too small--to wield it; doubted and cursed myself and you and all the world. And yet defiance still blazed high in me; I could be a warrior, perhaps a hero, and knew it not ... ah, cursed fool!... Now I gaze in envy at that man, could even kiss his feet, who with accusing conscience and hand yet free from blood-guiltiness, stood a transgressor here within this hall. O were this sword still clean, how might I wield it! What miracles exultingly perform! But for me now no saving miracle can come to pass ... [_The smothered tumult in the court becomes suddenly louder._] _Two Nobles_ [_at the window_]. God be merciful! Fly!--Save yourselves! [Hans Lorbass, _the young_ Prince _in his arms, rushes up the steps._] _Hans Lorbass_ [_breathless_]. Here--take the child! The foe is close at hand--within the court!