Fritz— (Out of breath.)
They've killed—they've killed the sheep!
Like hungry dogs. It's us they're after, though.
Dashed in and slashed them with their swords. Hear that!
(Wild shouting below.)
That's for our blood. (They listen.)
If we don't arm, chief,—
Canzler— Hark!
Fritz— (After a pause.)
If we don't arm—
(Up the mountain sounds the battle horn.)
To have lived to see this day!
(He hurries up the path and disappears.)
Canzler—Val-father's winds have blown them here to die.
(He goes up the path. The music is now distinctly heard above the noise of the storm. A flash of lightning reveals, in the rear, the dwarf climbing up the mountain, leading Oswald by the hand. Instantly loud and prolonged shouting bursts up from about a hundred feet below. The two come hurrying forward along the ledge. Oswald's face is streaked with blood and from the end of its black cord, his silver crucifix, likewise stained, dangles almost to his knees. Gradually it slips lower and lower till it finally falls and lies upon the grass. Having reached the path, they make their way up and are soon lost to view. That peculiar light which one sometimes sees when clouds are rifted during a storm illumines the scene and makes the green grass and trees show almost like flame. Below, voices are heard, and soon, climbing up the mountain, Father Benedict appears, his face pale, his eyes set before him. Upon the skirt of his snow-white chasuble there is seen, slanting down, a red streak as though he had pressed against a bloody sword-blade. Behind him, scattered, come, first, Hugh Capet with the great flag blown straight out in the wind, then Jules Bacqueur and Jacques Sar, their swords dripping, and, after them, the other villagers.)
Jules Bacqueur—Straight ahead. Father! Straight ahead!