As he walks back to his cave, Zarathustra hears once more the great cry of distress. Zarathustra observes that the cry comes from his cave. When Zarathustra returns there, he sees that the ugliest human being has “donned a crown and draped two purple sashes around himself—for like all ugly people he loved to disguise himself and act beautiful” (225-26). The eagle restlessly flies around, as he had been asked too many questions and his pride was wounded. Zarathustra studies each one of his guests with curiosity. He realizes that each one strains another’s nerves. They are all despairing people, Zarathustra realizes, and to place such strong personalities together has caused mischief. Yet, Zarathustra calls this dinner a gift and says he will give them something in return. He first offers them security for the evening; he then offers his little finger. Zarathustra makes the joke that once you have a hold of a person’s little finger, you may as well take the hand. One of the kings speaks, saying that they went searching into solitude for something to brighten their gloomy eyes (227). Yet, solitude has become brittle, like a “grave that breaks open and can no longer contain its dead.