Her eyes were like two fires burning, and she put her hand to her throat. "To have the gift of tears you must have shed them," she whispered, looking at him strangely: "You must have—shed them."
"Is it the curse alone," said the Kapellmeister, "that keeps you and Velasco apart, little one? Forgive me! Don't start like that! Don't—don't tremble."
Kaya backed away from him, snatching away her hands. Her lips were quivering and her eyes half closed. "Ah—" she breathed, "You are cruel. Take the spear and strike me, but don't prod a wound that is open and will not—heal! Have you no wound of your own hidden that you must needs bare mine?"
"It is love that has taught you," said the Kapellmeister, "You love him—Velasco!"
She gave a low moan and flung her arms up, covering her face.
The Kapellmeister stared at her for a moment. The stage was dark, and only a bulb of light, here and there, gleamed in the distance. Below, the watchman was pacing the corridor, waiting, and the smell of his pipe came up through the wings. The scenery looked grim and ghostly; the couch of Brünnhilde lay bare. Above were ropes and machinery dangling, and darkness.
He clinched his teeth suddenly and a sound escaped him, half a cry, half a groan; but smothered, as though seized and choked back. "Come," he said. He went to her roughly and took the helmet from her head, and the shield, and the spear; she standing there heedless with her arms across her face. They fell to the floor with a crash, first one, then the other, and the sound was like a blow, repeating itself in loud echoes.
"Go and take off your things," he said hurriedly, "It is midnight—past, and the watchman is waiting to lock the stage door. Rouse yourself—go! I will wait for you here."
He heard the sound of her footsteps crossing the stage, ascending the stair-case; and he walked backwards and forwards, forwards and backwards, in and out among the rocks and the trees. His forehead was scarred with lines, and his shoulders were bent. The look of the victorious General about him had changed into the look of one who has met the enemy face to face, and has fought with his strength and his might, and been beaten, with his forces slain and a bullet in his breast.
His eyes were fierce and his face set, his feet stumbled; he was white as death and weary. He heard her coming back and he walked on, backwards and forwards, without looking or heeding.