Fisherman. This is the place, my lord.
Cölestin [much aged and broken]. I thank thee, friend! That is the tower?
Fisherman [nodding]. And above it cross on cross.
Cölestin. Let me rest a little, I am dizzy. The way hither was hard. Yet I rejoice to know that worn-out as I am, I still may serve our young Prince. And more than him, our dear and holy lady, our Queen. Else surely I had--remained at home.
Fisherman [has meantime shaken the door of the tower]. The tower seems empty. The door is barred. There was a storm quite late.... Who knows where she wanders now, scouting for new graves.
Cölestin. Who speaks of graves? Fie! The hour will ripen all too soon for us to yield our withered sinful bodies to the worms. Build a fire for me, since we must wait. The evening lowers and this March wind blows cold on me. Make haste. [To the old Fisherman.] Run thou to our sovereign Lady, who so honored thee as to share thy hut, and tell her I beg her wait therein until we come to fetch her as she said.
Fisherman. Yes, my lord. [Goes out.]
Cölestin [to Miklas while the young men build the fire]. And thou, Miklas, tell us thy story again and on thy faith. It was last night the strangers knocked at thy door?
Miklas. Yes, my lord.
Cölestin. How many?