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Updated: May 1, 2025
"Against thee, Swanhild," said Eric, "I lift no hand. Do thy worst, I leave thee to thy fate and the vengeance of the Norns. I am no woman-slayer. But to Gizur the murderer I say, come." Then he turned and went, and Skallagrim went with him. "Up, men, and cut Eric down!" cried Gizur, seeking to cover his shame. But no man stirred.
"Admit the Intendant and show him into the garden, Lizette. Now!" said she, "I shall end my doubts about that lady! I will test the Intendant's sincerity, cold, calculating woman-slayer that he is! It shames me to contrast his half-heartedness with the perfect adoration of my handsome Le Gardeur de Repentigny!" The Intendant entered the garden.
Thy friends shall no assistance yield; Thy foes shall tread thee in the field; For thou the woman-slayer, then, Shall meet thy final fate from men. Those damsels whom thou hast deceived Shall feel no pang of grief; Their aid was malediction, Thy death is their relief. The Moor was true in heart and soul, He thought she spake in jest. He stood up in his stirrups, Her hand he would have pressed.
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