MARCOMIR.
I have cast it off
Forever; all my oaths are pushed aside,
With all my penitence, by something holy,
And the world seems new-born about me now;
I live as in a kind of bliss,—such joy,
Such fresh, warm sorrow.
CARLOMAN.
Geneviva—yes
I know she loves you. Wait till I am dead.
MARCOMIR.
O Carloman, I dare not break my news,
Not yet, you are not worthy. Do you hear
How the Rhone sings outside?
CARLOMAN.
Beyond these shutters—
The light, the lightning music!
MARCOMIR.
So life sweeps
Down through my blood; at last I have its secret.