Tanneguy and Beatrix, after biding long in the room of the red and the gold, came out together into the larger room. Without the lancet windows the rain was streaming. They sat upon a bench before an oaken stand where was spread a notably made copy of the Book of Democritus. The two sat down. “Book of Democritus—Book of Crates—” said Tanneguy. “I would that we had that Book of Chema that gives its name to our art, that Messires the fallen angels wrote and gave to the women they married!”
The rain beat against the windows. In this room was a fire of wood. It sent out a thin smoke. Light and shadow struggled between the pillars beneath the groined roof. There came a blast of wind.
“We two in a cave together—” said Beatrix.
“We two in a forest together—”
“We two fighting each the other, over I know not what... It has been so long ago.”
“I beat down and wronged you—”
“Oh, but I wronged you, too—”
“I was selfish, fierce, vain, proud, and jealous—”
“My body bound my mind. I was more weak than water.... I grew false to myself and all things.”
“There was no true love.”