A painful resolution was ripening in his soul, which seemed to have become as still as the grave.
But round about him the place was full of the misery of the poor people of Ravenna, who prayed, scolded, wept and cursed.
"Oh! what will now become of us?"--"Oh, how sweet and good and white was the bread which we received but yesterday!"--"What shall we eat now?"--"Bah, the King must help us."--"Yes, the King must give us bread."--"The King? Ah, the poor man! where will he get it?"--"He has no more."--"That's another thing!"--"He alone has brought us to this pass!"--"It is his fault!"--"Why did he not surrender the city to the Emperor long ago?"--"Yes, to its rightful master!"--"Curses on the barbarians! It is all their fault!"--"No, no, it is only the King's fault!"--"Do you not understand? It is a punishment from God!"--"Punishment? Why? What wrong has he done? Has he not given bread to the people?"--"Then you do not know? How can a bigamist deserve the grace of God? The wicked man has two wives. He lusted for the beauty of Mataswintha, and did not rest until she became his. He put away his lawful wife."
Witichis indignantly descended the steps.
He was disgusted with the people.
But they recognised him.
"There is the King! How gloomy he looks!" they called to each other, avoiding him.
"Oh, I don't fear him! I fear hunger more than his anger. Give us bread. King Witichis! Do you hear? We are starving!" cried a ragged old man, catching at the King's mantle.
"Bread, King!"
"Good King, bread!"