ESTHER (to her father).

Behold thy foes are trembling!  Art thou glad? 
Not I. For Rachel wakes not from the dead.

[The KING, in the front, gazes at his hands, and rubs them, as though washing them, one over the other.  Then the same motion over his body.  At last he feels his throat, moving his hands around it.  In this last position, with his hands at his throat, he remains motionless, staring fixedly before him.]

MANRIQUE.  Most noble Prince and King.  Most gracious Sire!

KING (starting violently).

Ye here?  ’Tis good ye come!  I sought for you—­
And all of you.  Ye spare me further search.

[He steps before them, measuring them with angry glances.]

MANRIQUE (pointing to the weapons lying on the floor).

We have disarmed ourselves, laid down our swords.

KING.  I see the swords.  Come ye to slay me, then? 
             I pray, complete your work.  Here is my breast!

[He opens his robe.]

QUEEN.  He has’t no more!

KING.  How mean you, lady fair?

QUEEN.  Gone is the evil picture from his neck.

KING.  I’ll fetch it, then.

[He takes a few steps toward the door at the side, and then stands still.]

QUEEN.  O God, this madness still!

MANRIQUE.  We know full well, how much we, Sire, have erred—­
             Most greatly, that we did not leave to thee
             And thine own honor thy return to self! 
             But, Sire, the time more pressing was than we. 
             The country trembled, and at all frontiers
             The foemen challenged us to ward our land.

KING.  And foemen must be punished—­is’t not so? 
             Ye warn me rightly; I am in their midst. 
             Ho, Garceran!

GARCERAN.  Thou meanest me, O Sire?

KING.  Yea, I mean thee!  Though me thou hast betrayed,
             Thou wert my friend.  Come to me then, I say,
             And tell me what thou think’st of her within! 
             Her—­whom thou help’dst to slay—­of that anon. 
             What thoughtst thou of her while she still did live?

GARCERAN.  O Sire, I thought her fair.

KING.  What more was she?

GARCERAN.  But wanton, too, and light, with evil wiles.

KING.  And that thou hidst from me while still was time?

GARCERAN.  I said it, Sire!

KING.  And I believed it not? 
             How came that?  Pray, say on!

GARCERAN.  My Sire—­the Queen,
             She thinks ’twas magic.

KING.  Superstition, bah! 
             Which fools itself with idle make-believe.