"And about what did you want to speak to me?" asked the emperor, as the prince remained silent.
"About Berengar, papa."
"About Berengar?"
"About Berengar and myself. I have been contrasting myself with him, papa. We are brothers, we are both your sons. Which of us, do you think, takes most after you ... and ... our ancestors?"
"What are you driving at, Othomar?"
"At what is right, papa: right and just. Nature is sometimes unjust and blind; she ought to have let Berengar be born first and me next ... or even left me out altogether."
"Once more, what are you driving at, Othomar?"
"Can't you see, papa? I will tell you. Is Berengar not more of a monarch than I am? Is that not why he's your favourite? And ought I to deprive him of his natural rights for the sake of my traditional rights? I want to abdicate in his favour, papa. I want to abdicate everything, all my rights."
"The boy's mad," muttered Oscar.
"All my rights," repeated Othomar, dreamily, as though he foresaw the future: his little brother crowned.