(Stares after them, rouses himself, and perceives the Bishop.) Bishop, I treated thee basely this evening. Forgive me and have my thanks, for surely I also know why the Goth loveth death.... (Grasps his sword.) Now be ye ready? Have the farewells been said?
Theodemir.
Sire, we have disobeyed thy command. Which of our wives betrayed it, and which of us told it, that cannot be determined. Enough, they all know it.
Teja.
And then have cried ah and woe?
Theodemir.
Sire, they have silently kissed the blessing of death upon our brows.
Teja (exclaims half to himself).
They also! (Aloud.) Truly we are a nation of kings. It is our misfortune. So come! (He strides to the background. The others follow. Amid the noisy cries of the people greeting the King, the curtain falls.)