(Tell shoots; a shout of exultation bursts from the crowd. Tell’s head drops on his bosom; he with difficulty supports himself upon his bow.)
Ver. (Rushing in with Albert.) Thy boy is safe, no
hair of him is touched.
Alb. Father, I’m safe! Your Albert’s safe, dear father,—
Speak to me! Speak to me!
Ver. He cannot, boy.
Alb. You grant him life?
Ges. I do.
Alb. And we are free?
Ges. You are. (Crossing angrily behind.)