SHE: And he, this mighty Duke of god-like beauty doth woo me to his wife—
HE (bitterly): With my tongue.
SHE: Why came he not in his own glorious person?
HE: Lady, though a Duke, he hath his moments of wisdom and argueth thus: “I, though a Duke, am yet a man. Thus, should I as Duke woo her, she may wed the Duke, loving not the man—”
SHE: And so he sent a Fool as his ambassador! And so do I scorn this god-like Duke—
HE: Ha! Scorn him! My lady—O Yolande, what of me?
She: Thou, false to him and faithless to thy trust, didst woo me for thyself which was ill in thee. But thou didst throw the terrible Red Gui into my lily-pool which was brave in thee. Thou didst endure chains and a prison undaunted which was noble in thee. Thou didst this night at peril of thy life save me from shame, but thou didst bear me urgently here into the wild, and in the wild here lie I beside thee, lost, yet warm and sleepy and safe beneath thy cloak—and so—'tis very well—
HE: Safe, Yolande? Hath thy heart told thee this at last? But thou didst fear me—
SHE: Because to-night thou didst clasp me in cruel arms and spake me words of love passionate and fierce and—and—
HE: Kissed thee, Yolande!