"I draw my strength from the faith of our fathers, my Schanvoch. It teaches me that we proceed to live in other worlds in the company of those whom we have loved in this," Ellen sweetly answered me while she and Sampso helped to buckle on my cuirass. "That is why I put into practice our mothers' maxim that the Gallic woman never grows pale when her brave husband departs for battle, and that she reddens with joy at his return. And if he does not return, she is proud at the knowledge that he died as a brave man, and every evening she says to herself: 'One more day has passed, one more step is taken towards those unknown worlds, where we shall meet our dear ones again.'"
"Let us not talk of absence but of return," said Sampso, offering me my casque, which she had so carefully polished with her own hands that she could have seen her sweet face in the burnished steel. "You have always been so lucky in war, Schanvoch, that I feel sure you will return to us."
"I rely on your faith, dear Sampso. I depart happy in the knowledge of your sisterly affection, and of Ellen's love. I shall return happy, above all if I shall have been able to leave a fresh mark on the face of a certain king of those Frankish skinners of human bodies, as a token of acknowledgment for the loyalty of the hospitality that he yesterday bestowed upon me. But here I am armed. A kiss to my little Alguen, and then to horse!"
As I was about to proceed to my wife's room, Sampso held me back, saying:
"Brother—what of the strange woman?"
"You are right, Sampso; I forgot all about her."
As a matter of precaution I had locked Elwig's room. I knocked at the door and called out to her:
"Shall I come in?"
I received no answer. Alarmed at the silence I opened the door. Elwig sat on the edge of the couch with her head in her hands, in the identical posture that I saw her last.
"Did sleep bring you rest?"