Thy soul is far away…. What ails thee, then?—Meseems thou art not happy….
MÉLISANDE.
Yes, yes; I am happy, but I am sad….
PÉLLÉAS.
One is sad often when one loves….
MÉLISANDE.
I weep always when I think of thee….
PÉLLÉAS.
I too…. I too, Mélisande…. I am quite near thee; I weep for joy, and yet …[He kisses her again.]—Thou art strange when I kiss thee so…. Thou art so beautiful that one would think thou wert about to die….