Christine. The King?
Windrank. Yes, of course! The father and liberator of his country! Of course, he's an oppressor, but that's no reason why he should be murdered.
Christine. When is it going to happen?
Windrank. Why, to-morrow—in Greatchurch—right in church! [At a signal from Christine, the Harlot leaves.]
Christine. How could they pick you for such a deed?
Windrank. Well, you see, I gave a connection or two among the church attendants, and then I am poor, of course. What the devil does it matter who puts the match to the powder, if only some shrewd fellow is pointing the gun? And then we have several other little schemes in reserve, although I'm to fire the first shot. But why don't you run off and tell about it?
Christine. It has already been done.
Windrank. Well, God be thanked and praised! Goodbye, there goes all my money!
Christine. Tell me who you are, you conspirators.
Windrank. No, that I won't tell!