Yolanda. As it will be! in deadlier dark,
If you attend me not!
And may have destiny you cannot know.
But you will heed?
For somewhere in you there is tenderness.
Once when you chafed in fever and I bore
White orange blossoms dewy to your pillow
You touched my hand gently, as might a father.
[Caresses his.
Once on the tower when alone at dusk
I sang—I know not why—of lost delights,
Of vanished roses that are e'er recalling
May to the world, you came and suddenly
Lifted my brow up silent to your kiss.
Ah, you remember; you will hear me?
Renier. No!
Though you are cunning.—Thus you wove the mesh
About Amaury—till he could not move
Beyond you.
Yolanda. For his sake I ask it.
Renier. For
No sake but to o'ersway him with your eyes
In secret, thus, and with
Your hair that he believes an aureole
Brought with you out of Heaven.
Berengere. Again—wrong.
Renier. So deem you and, my Berengere, I grieve,
Desiring much your peace.
Berengere. It grieves you not.
Renier. Then not! and half I fear—you hear?—it should not.
There's midnight in this thing and mystery.
Does she not love—Camarin?