He stands for a moment wrapt in thought, then wends his way to the hall of feasting. Recovering his presence of mind, he flings aside the truth just forced upon him, as if it were all a dream; he commands it not to be; he almost persuades himself to believe it has never been! Greeting his guests anew, his air is calm and regal. The bridegroom, turning to his friends, exclaims: 'Companions in arms, with whom I have spent so many joyous hours in camp and hall, I dedicate to you the hours of this my wedding night; nor will I seek my bride until the flush of dawn is in the sky. What hour do the heavens tell?' One of the revellers rises, draws back the curtain from the window, and says: 'It is just past midnight; the moon rides high in the sky.' 'Then am I still yours,' exclaims the youth, 'and again I pledge you in the rosy wine.' As he speaks he fills the cup of gold studded with diamonds, swallows the contents, and passes it to the nearest guest. But the heavy palm of the castle's lord rests upon his shoulder. Seizing another brimming cup, he says: 'I drain this to thy health, father, and our guests will surely pledge it with me.' The lord of the castle thanks him not; he points to the open door, through which may be seen, as they wind along the distant galleries and archways, the retreating forms of the now silent bridesmaids. Shaking his blonde curls, the youth answers: 'These brave men have always served me faithfully; I have sworn to consecrate this night to them; we drink and feast together until Aurora leads the dawn.' Seizing the hands of those nearest to him, he resumes: 'Companions, for this sacrifice swear to pursue, to hunt to death, as I shall command, the vile mob of rebels and traitors who infest these mountains.' They give the pledge, while _vivats_ fill the hall. 'Long live our prince!' The face of the proud old man glimmers with a bluish rage, but the loud plaudits, the outstretched arms, the dazzling, naked swords, the wild, warlike enthusiasm bewilder his brain, while pride and hate, splendor and power, tempting and blinding his soul, veil in fleeting glitter the broken form of the lonely, weeping, wretched child. He is carried away in the excitement of the hour, and the loud voice which had once thundered in the battles of _his own_ unhappy land, joins in the cry: 'Death to the rebels!' Deigning not, however, to remain longer with the guests, he sternly beckons to his attendants. They file in order before him with lighted torches. The youth rises, leaves his friends for an instant, and accompanies to the door of the saloon the old man, who takes leave of him with an air of aversion, while the youth returns to his friends: 'By my good sword!' he exclaims, 'I will brook no control. I wedded a fair girl, not chains nor fetters. Let the dim moon light the solving of love's riddle for older maidens; my bride is young and lovely enough to bear the growing light of dawn.'