"You will speak to your mistress for me," he said to her, casting a swift glance into the moonlit garden.
The girl looked at him with a puzzled air, but did not stir.
"What am I to say to her?" she said.
"That I will not enter these gates!"
"You will not?"
"No!" He snapped curtly.
"Fool! How you will regret your speech!"
Her face changed suddenly like a fickle sky, and there was something in her eyes too wicked for words.
Without vouchsafing a reply, Tristan turned and lost himself in the desolation of Mount Aventine.
The night marched on majestically.