THE PRINCE. Returning from the sovereign?
HOHENZOLL. The stairs descending from the sovereign.
And added, when he saw my startled face,
That nothing yet was lost, and that the dawn
Would bring another day for pardoning.
But the dead pallor of his lips disproved
Their spoken utterance, with, I fear it—no!
THE PRINCE (rising).
He could—I'll not believe it!—bring to birth
Such monstrous resolutions in his heart?
For a defect, scarce visible to the lens,
In the bright diamond he but just received,
Tread in the dust the giver? 'Twere a deed
To burn the Dey of Algiers white: with wings
Like those that silver-gleam on cherubim
To dizen Sardanapalus, and cast
The assembled tyrannies of ancient Rome,
Guiltless as babes that die on mother-breast,
Over upon the favor-hand of God!
HOHENZOLLERN (who has likewise risen).
My friend, you must convince yourself of that!
THE PRINCE. The Marshal then was silent, said nought else?
HOHENZOLL. What should he say?
THE PRINCE. Oh, heaven, my hope, my hope!
HOHENZOLL. Come, have you ever done a thing, perchance,
Be it unconsciously or consciously,
That might have given his lofty heart offense?
THE PRINCE. Never!
HOHENZOLLERN. Consider!