Amaury. Sir!
Renier. She would.
Yolanda. No, no! But let him.... Then I will go far
Away from here to any alien air,
To opiate India, a lost sea-isle!
To the last peak of arid Caucasus.
Renier. With Camarin of Paphos?
Yolanda. With whoever
Your peace and this compelling pain ... Ah no!
Renier. With him, with him, I say?...
Amaury. You drive and drain her.
To me her words shall be—me and no other.
So my Yolanda now dissolve the cling
Of this invisible but heavy hydra;
I've striven with it till no more I can.
If any tare has been unseemly sown
Upon the April vision of our love,
Say it at once that I may rend and fling it
Away from us. Say it!
Renier. Vainly implored.—
Yet ask her this, If she three nights ago——
Amaury. I will not so insult her——
Tremitus. Aeih——