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The argument between the ascetic and the aristocrat ended as most arguments in the world do – each remained with their own opinion. Valdemar, swaying slightly as he walked, returned to headquarters. The sun had already left the earth, and the figures of buildings and people in the evening twilight seemed full of mystery in their smooth movements and indistinct outlines, as perceived by his inebriated mind. He didn't want to think; his ability to contemplate and feel, on the contrary, was heightened to the extreme, and the walk in the twilight seemed unusually long to him – so much had he become saturated with impressions from the deceptive world of the evening Clematis.
– So... good evening, soldiers, – Valdemar appeared in the doorway of the headquarters. – I see, everyone is here... except for our brilliant leader. Where is he? And what about that... priestess?
E si sui vius, er mi grans benananza, e si ieu muoir, er mi grans deliuriers