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Suddenly he sprang up, seized his sword, broke it, and
cried: “Lord Jesu Christ, see, I break my sword!” and
he lifted the shining pieces of the blade. “Pardon, Jesu,
pardon!”
The pastor then spoke words of consolation to him and
gave him the sacrament without delay, for he seemed not
to have a long time left. After that Pastor Jens called
Shoemaker’s Anne and departed.
The disease was believed to be contagious, hence none
of those who had been close to the dying man attended
him in his illness, but in the room below a few of his family
and friends, the physician in ordinary to the King, and
two or three gentlemen of the court were assembled to
receive the noblemen, foreign ministers, officers, courtiers,
and city councilmen who called to inquire about him. So
the peace of the sick-chamber was not disturbed, and Ulrik
Christian was again alone with Shoemaker’s Anne.
Twilight fell. Anne threw more wood on the fire, lit two
candles, took her prayer-book, and settled herself
comfortably. She pulled her cap down to shade her face and very
soon was asleep. A barber-surgeon and a lackey had been
posted in the ante-room to be within call, but they were
both squatting on the floor near the window, playing dice
on the straw matting to deaden the sound. They were so
absorbed in their game that they did not notice some one
stealing through the room, until they heard the door of the
sick-chamber close.
“It must have been the doctor,” they said, looking at
each other in fright.
It was Marie Grubbe. Noiselessly she stole up to the bed
and bent over the patient, who was dozing quietly. In the
dim, uncertain light, he looked very pale and unlike
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