(Pauses.)
Camarin. Or death.
Yolanda. Then have you not, unshameable!
A help for it or healing? you who know
So well the world and its unwonted ways!
A man would have, a man.
Camarin. And I am barren.
My brain an arid waste under remorse.
Only—one thing it yields—the love of her
My love has made unholy.
Yolanda. While to me
The shame is left, and silence—no defence,
When it is told Amaury, "See her you
Blest with betrothal and the boon of faith,
Chose as the planet-mate of your proud star!
While, in the battle,
You with the weal of Cyprus on your brow
Dared momently peril,
We found her" ... Ah, the memory is fire!——
I will not bear it.
Camarin. Then how? What?... You must.
Though for your suffering I am pitiful.
You must! (Takes her wrist.)
For to one thing, one only now I'm bent——
That Berengere be saved.
Berengere. To-day ... no more.
Camarin. Suspicion and the peril-feet of shame
I must keep from her still.
Yolanda. Though driven o'er
My heart they trample the lone flower of hope.
(Shaking off his hand, then, unnaturally wrought up.)