Gran. The King is asleep in the next room. (Points to the door near his desk.)
Flink. The King here?
Gran. He came here to-night.
Flink. Well, it will wake him up; he will have to wake up some time, any way.
Gran. It would be horrible! No!
Flink. Indeed? It is for his sake you have betrayed me. You did that as soon as ever you met him again. He has bewitched you. Let him hear and see what he has done! (Holds out the pistols.) Here!
Gran. Wait. What you have just said brings a doubt into my mind. Is not revenge, after all, the motive for what you are doing?
Flink. Revenge?
Gran. Yes. Don't misunderstand me; I am not trying to shuffle out of it. If I were free to choose, I would choose death rather than anything else. The King knows that, too. But I ask because there ought to be some serious reason for anything that may happen. I am not going to stand up and face a sentiment of revenge that is so ill-grounded.
Flink (laying the pistols down). I hate the man who has led you astray—that is true. When I was giving you the reasons why I took upon myself the task of calling you to account, perhaps I forgot that. I hate him. But the instrument that carries out a sentence is one thing; the sentence itself is quite another. You arc sentenced to death because you have betrayed our cause—and because you say that you were right to do so. The world shall learn what that costs. It costs a man's life.