Prince [pointing to his helmet with a smile]. Look there!
Hans. Thou hast done well to bring them; if the fatal seed of death does not draw thee down to eternal failure thou must do well indeed! For now the secret purpose of thy path is about to reveal itself; now thy proud and self-poised soul pants to mount aloft,--and here I stand and counsel thee: Hurl away thy prize!
Prince. Thou ravest.
[The Burial-wife appears in the door of the tower, thrown into lurid prominence by the fire that burns within on the hearth. It grows dark rapidly.]
Hans. Too late. It has begun. [Whispers.] It looks as if the hearth-fire glowed straight through her parchment skin and wrapped her bones in flame.
Prince. Burial-wife! Look me in the face!
Burial-wife. Thou hast come! Welcome, dear son!
Prince. Thy dear son--I am not. Thy creditor I am, and I demand my own.
Burial-wife. What dost thou ask?
Prince. I forced from thee the words that taught me my way; the deed thou hast demanded is accomplished, and I claim the prize!