Joyzelle.
(Looking at him and throwing herself, weeping, in his arms.) Oh, how you have suffered!...
Lancéor.
I have suffered, yes, I have suffered!... I deserved it but too well, after what I said, after what I did!... But that is not what matters or overwhelms me.... I would willingly die, if you could but see once more, were it only for the flash of an eye, that which you once loved.... I cling to myself, to the little that remains of me.... I should like to hide myself, to bury my distress; and yet I want you to see me first, so that you may know at last what you would have to love, if you still loved me.... Come, come, nearer, nearer.... Not nearer to me, but nearer to the rays that shine upon my wretchedness.... Look at these wrinkles, these dead eyes, these lips.... No, no, do not approach, lest disgust.... I am less like myself than if I had returned from a world which life had never visited.... You do not recoil? You are not astonished?... You do not see me as these mirrors see me?...
Joyzelle.
I see that you are pale and that you seem tired.... Do not put away my arms.... Bring your face closer.... Why not let me put my lips to it, as I did when all things smiled to us in the garden of flowers?... Love knows many days on which nothing smiles.... What matter, if it be there to smile when we weep?... I am pushing back your hair which hid your face and made it look so sad.... See, it is just like that which I pushed back in our first kiss.... Come, come, do not think about the lies of the mirrors.... They do not know what they say; but love knows.... Already life is returning to those eyes which see me again.... Have no fear, for I have none.... I know what we must do and I shall have the secret that will cure your pain....
Lancéor.
Joyzelle!...
Joyzelle.