MOSER. I know but two. But men do not commit these, nor do men even dream of them.
FRANCIS. What are they?
MOSER (very significantly). Parricide is the name of the one; fratricide of the other. Why do you turn so suddenly pale?
FRANCIS. What, old man? Art thou in league with heaven or with hell?
Who told thee that?
MOSER. Woe to him that hath them both upon his soul! It were better for that man that he had never been born! But be at peace; you have no longer either a father or a brother!
FRANCIS. Ha! what! Do you know no greater sin? Think again! Death, heaven, eternity, damnation, hang upon thy lips. Not one greater?
MOSER. No, not one
FRANCIS (falling back in a chair). Annihilation! annihilation!
MOSER. Rejoice, then, rejoice! Congratulate yourself! With all your abominations you are yet a saint in comparison with a parricide. The curse that falls upon you is a love ditty in comparison with the curse that lies upon him. Retribution—
FRANCIS (starting up). Away with thee! May the graves open and swallow thee ten thousand fathoms deep, thou bird of ill omen! Who bade thee come here? Away, I tell thee, or I will run thee through and through!