He arose from his seat and read some of the inscriptions on the wall. He could boast of a mighty ancestry. They were of a lusty and powerful race, and while indulging in the pleasures of the chase and the social board, would speedily have forgotten an adventure like the one that now unnerved him.
Have we become weaker, pettier, more timid?
The king seated himself again and gazed at the fire. He was angry with himself, and yet could not master his weakness.
We are not like the men of the olden time, with their rude simplicity and fearless disregard of consequences. Why have we not inherited the strength of our ancestors, instead of mere pride in their power?
What has happened?
Unfaithfulness cannot be blotted out, nor can the dead be called back to life.
The memory of the days passed in intoxicating happiness rose up before him, as if to say: It dare not, it cannot be.
Has she a right, while destroying her life, to destroy mine, too? And she has destroyed it. Her death will ever remain an inseparable part of myself. I bear a corpse about with me. The guilt of murder dwells within my heart!
He suddenly held his hands before the fire, for they were cold. The flames burned brightly, but they did not warm his hands, and his heart seemed freezing.
Is Bronnen right in refusing to see anything in this terrible affair but the inevitable results of my actions?