“Ah, look!” she cried, clutching wildly Lohengrin’s arm. “See the swan? He comes! There—down the river! He brings the boat! Thou hast called him!”
“Oh, Elsa, cease this madness!” cried Lohengrin, in despair.
“Nothing can give me peace again, till I know—even though it cost me my life—who thou art, and whence thou comest.”
“Alas!” groaned Lohengrin, covering his face with his hands.
So absorbed were they both, that they did not hear the stealthy tread upon the stair, nor the low, muffled voices outside the door.
Suddenly there was a crash. The door was broken open, and a group of dark figures, cloaked and masked, barred the passage, while one of the number rushed towards Lohengrin, drawing his naked sword.
It was the work of an instant. Lohengrin had but time to seize his sword, when the stalwart figure closed with him.
In the flickering torchlight, he parried the foe’s first deadly thrust, and before he had time for a second, the trusty sword of Lohengrin had pierced to his traitorous heart. With a deep groan he fell back, and Elsa beheld, as she suspected, the face of Frederick of Telramund.
Hearing the noise, Elsa’s attendants and guards now crowded into the room. The dark masked figures had fled on seeing their master fall.