Still I want to speak--not to show my courage, but really I want to say a few words from my heart so as not to die mutely--innocent words that will harm nobody, a couple of hurried sentences before they clap their hands across my lips: Friends, see how God's sun is shining.... And I open my lips, but I cannot speak. Am I afraid? Does my courage fail? Alas, no, I am not afraid. But I am weak, that I am, and I cannot speak because I look upon God's sun and the trees for the last time.... What now? A horseman with a white flag? Peace, my heart, do not tremble so! No, it is a woman with a white veil, a handsome woman of my own age. Her neck is bare like my own. And I do not understand it, but I weep because of this white veil, too, because I am weak and the white veil flutters beautifully against the green background of the forest. But in a little while I shall see it no more.... Perhaps, though, after my head has fallen I may still be able to see the blessed sky for a few moments with my eyes. It is not impossible, if I only open my eyes widely when the axe falls. Then the sky will be the last I see. But don't they tie a bandage across my eyes? Or won't they blindfold me because I am so weak and tearful? But then everything will be dark, and I shall lie blindly, unable even to count the threads in the cloth before my eyes. How stupidly mistaken I was when I hoped to be able to turn my eyes upward and behold the blessed vault of heaven. They will turn me over, on my stomach, with my neck in a clamp. And I shall be able to see nothing because of my bandaged eyes. Probably there will be a small box suspended below me; and I cannot even see the little box which I know will catch my severed head. Only night--a seething darkness around me. I blink my eyes and believe myself still alive--I have life in my fingers, even--I cling stubbornly to life. If they would only take off the bandage so I could see something--I might enjoy looking at the dust grains in the bottom of the box and see how tiny they were.... Silence and Darkness. Mute exhalations from the crowds.... Merciful God! Grant me one supplication--take off the bandage! Merciful God! I am _Thy_ creature--take off the bandage! Everybody was silent when he was through. Ojen drank; Milde was busy with a spot on his vest, and did not understand a word of what he had heard; he lifted his glass to the Journalist and whispered: "Your health!" Mrs. Hanka spoke first; she smiled to Ojen and said, out of the goodness of her heart: "Oh, you Ojen, you Ojen! How everything you write seems evanescent, ethereal! 'Mute exhalations from the crowds'--I can hear it; I can feel it! It is thrilling!" Everybody thought so, too, and Ojen was happy. Happiness was very becoming to his girlish face.