He had put his finger on their secret fear, the fear that he had never shared and whose power he could therefore never understand. Let them do what they pleased: he had spoken the truth.
His anger drained away and he was himself again, as yet only a little alarmed at what he had done. He turned to the President in a last gesture of independence.
“Have I your permission to leave?”
Still no words were spoken, but the slight inclination of the head gave him his release. The great doors expanded before him and not until long after they had closed again did the storm break upon the Council Chamber.
The President waited until the inevitable lull. Then he turned to Jeserac.
“It seems to me,” he said, “that we should hear your views first.”
Jeserac examined the remark for possible traps. Then he replied:
“I think that Diaspar is now losing its most outstanding brain.”
“What do you mean?”
“Isn’t it obvious? By now young Alvin will be halfway to the Tomb of Yarlan Zey. No, we shouldn’t interfere. I shall be very sorry to lose him, though he never cared very much for me.” He sighed a little. “For that matter, he never cared a great deal for anyone save Alvin of Loronei.”