Berengere. Perhaps.
Renier. That—love!
(A pause.)
Then it shall be, at once ... But no, I first
Have a confession.
Berengere. You?
Renier. A pang!—For days
(Takes her hand.)
Before I found Yolanda on the breast
Of Camarin of Paphos——
I suffered in the furnace of suspicion
The fume and suffocation of the thought
That you were the guilty one—you my own wife.
(She recoils to Yolanda, who comes up.)
I did; but rue, rue it!...
... Yet—it is just
That you recoil even as now you do
From stain upon your wedded constancy....
But Time that is e'er-pitiful may pass
Soon over it—
And leave only forgiveness. And perhaps
Then I shall win you as I never have.—
Now the request.