A voice that was almost strange to her startled her out of her stupor of despair.
“How long have you been wed, Igraine?”
“Nine months, Pelleas.”
The man seemed to be struggling with himself as though he strove after the truth, yet could not confront it for all his strength. When he spoke his voice was like the voice of a man winded by hard running. He appeared to urge himself forward, to goad his courage to a task that he dreaded. There was great anguish on his face as he looked into the girl’s eyes.
“I must speak what I know, Igraine.”
The words seemed slow with effort. Igraine watched him in silence, full of a vague dread.
“Gorlois has spoken to me of his wife.”
“Say on, Pelleas.”
Pelleas hesitated.
“The truth—tell me the truth.”