William looked up; his face was changed, almost distorted.
“I will do it. I am often ill, but I can put a good face on it—I shall live long enough … to do my task.”
“People will misunderstand—you must not care—to this one thing be true. You must forego pleasure, ease, popularity, friends.”
“I will do it,” repeated the Prince in a choking voice. “Speak to me—bless me—there is no other who understands.… Nevermore shall I speak to any as now I speak to you … to—you—who leave me.”
“What more can I say? Your own soul will guide you. Be tolerant, be just, be true to your word, be patient and be brave.”
“I will not falter—I will not despair—even though I go forth alone and never reach the goal.” The Prince’s voice failed him; he covered his face and his shoulders heaved.
M. Triglandt lay back on the white, fragrant pillows.
“I can speak no more,” he said faintly. “You know the way.”
William spoke without raising his head—
“Stay with me a little—for I love you.”