“Pelleas must not hear us talking.”
They were silent awhile, lying in each other’s arms with no sound save that of their breathing. Igraine’s misery burnt in her and cried out for sympathy; Garlotte, half wise by instinct, yearned to share a trouble which she did not wholly comprehend, to advise where she was partly ignorant. The girl felt a great stirring of her heart towards Igraine, but could say nothing for the moment. Having no better eloquence at command she raised her head and kissed the other’s lips, a warm, impulsive kiss that seemed as rich in sympathy as a rose in scent.
Igraine’s confidence woke at the touch of the girl’s lips; she hungered even for this child’s comfort, her simple guidance in this matter of life and love. It was easy enough to die, hard to exist as a mere spiritless Galatea devoid of soul.
“Garlotte!”
“Yes, Igraine.”
“Imagine that you were married to a man you hated, and you loved Renan.”
Garlotte raised herself in bed.
“And Renan loved you and knew nothing?”
“Yes.”
“Would you tell Renan the truth?”