From afar, Siegfried observes the woman’s quiet sulking, thankful for a moment of peace. He is exhausted and unused to company. Company irritates him. Many a women has laid eyes on his house but only a handful ever stay until morning and when they do it is never by way of his insistence.

Siegfried knows that if he undresses in front of Petra, he will cause another unwanted scene so instead, he climbs awkwardly into bed and draws the curtains around him to shield him from view. Then, donning his nightcap, he kneels to say his prayers, psalter in hand. He prays the way he does anything else: by memory. The Latin words all line up in neat little mental rows, gardens of speech to be tended to each night. At the end of his prayer he says a private one for certain people. For Faramund, and for Frederick, the lord’s eldest boy. He ends with a short plea for his mother’s soul.

While completing his nighttime routine, he treats Petra no differently than a dog kept in the master’s house. As promised, Siegfried takes his sword to bed with him, thrusts the scabbard towards Petra for emphasis as he crawls under the blanket, resigned to the sight of her wary, angry stare. He yawns.
“Watch the fire, Petra,” he says, closing his curtains, murmuring, “My, it has been such a long day. Such a long day…”