'Hungarian wine!' he cries.' I will drink to the health of my fellow citizens.'
No one moves, the bystanders seem turning to stone.
'Haste! This blood must be washed away before my daughter returns to her chamber. Haste, I say!'
None move, all eyes are cast down; they cannot bear the strange light in his wandering glances.
'Ah! do you not know we are all dreaming? My sleep is torpid, stubborn, accursed, but the dawn is here, and I must soon awake!'
So saying he moves out upon the gallery, where suddenly a new thought appears to strike him; he leans over the marble balustrade, looks to the right and left, then exclaims:
'Guests, we will go out to seek the young betrothed; it is strange they should have gone out to walk so early!'
He descends the vaulted stairway by which his nephew had ascended but a short time before. He stoops at the foot of the hill, picks some roses, murmuring:
'For my good child. Move silently, friends, she loved this bower of jessamines; we will surprise her here, and be the first to say good morning to the bride.'
With drooping heads his guests follow his steps as he glides along under the sad firs and stately pines. Pathways stretch before them, leading into forest depths and over mossy banks, or climbing hillsides laden with vines. The old man often calls his daughter loudly by her name; the laughing echoes answer mockingly; the followers burst into tears. Striking his forehead suddenly and violently with his hands, he cries: