HOHENZOLLERN (handing back the torch).
He's sound, you tender-hearted women folk,
By Jove, as sound as I! He'll make the Swede
Aware of that upon tomorrow's field.
It's nothing more, and take my word for it,
Than a perverse and silly trick of the mind.
ELECTOR. By faith, I thought it was a fairy-tale!
Follow me, friends, we'll take a closer look.
[They descend from the terrace.]
GENTLEMAN-IN-WAITING (to the pages).
Back with the torches!
[Illustration: #THE ROYAL CASTLE AT BERLIN#]
HOHENZOLLERN. Leave them, leave them, friends!
These precincts might roar up to heaven in fire
And his soul be no more aware of it
Than the bright stone he wears upon his hand.
[They surround him, the pages illuminating the scene.]
ELECTOR (bending over the PRINCE).
What leaf is it he binds? Leaf of the willow?
HOHENZOLL. What! Willow-leaf, my lord? It is the bay,
Such as his eyes have noted on the portraits
Of heroes hung in Berlin's armor-hall.
ELECTOR. Where hath he found that in my sandy soil?