Who am I? In a few hours I have aged thirty years.... The poison is doing its work and sorrow too.... I see myself with terror in this mirror which shows me the wreck of myself.... Yet, it does not lie. (Going to another mirror.) For here is another that says the same thing ... unless they all lie, even as everything seems to lie and to mock at me in this extraordinary island. (He feels his face.) Alas, they are right!... These wrinkles which my hand follows are not formed by their malevolent crystal.... They are in my flesh!... And these hideous blemishes which will not come away, I feel them under my fingers.... These bent shoulders refuse to straighten themselves; my hair is colourless, like pale ashes after the flame has died away; my eyes, even my eyes, hardly recognize themselves.... They used to open, to laugh, to welcome life.... Now they blink and their glances avoid me like the glances of a knave.... Not a thing remains to me of what I was; my mother would pass by me and not see me.... It is finished.... (Drawing the curtain of a tall window.) Let us hide ourselves; let complete dusk cover up all this!... (He lies down in a dark corner of the room.) I give up, I consent.... I have done what love can never forgive.... I am losing my life at last, as I have lost Joyzelle.... She will not see me again, I shall not see her again....
[A door opens. Enter Joyzelle.
Joyzelle.
(Surprised by the darkness, she stands a moment on the threshold. Then, casting her eyes around the room, she perceives Lancéor lying in a corner and rushes towards him with outstretched arms.) Lancéor!... Ah, these last three days I have lived like a mad thing! I looked for you everywhere. I went to the tower.... The doors were closed, the windows too. I crouched on the sill to catch a glimpse of your shadow, I called, I screamed, no one answered.... But how pale you are, how thin!... I am talking to you without thinking.... Give me your two hands....
Lancéor.
You know me?...
Joyzelle.
Why not?
Lancéor.
But then I am not...? I am still myself?... Look at me!... What trace of me remains?... (Going to the window and tearing aside the curtain.) Look! Look!... What do you know me by?... Tell me, is it here?... Is it my hands, my eyes, my clothes, perhaps?...