Your promises, broken two days, are kept?
You've spoken? won lord Renier to wisdom?
Pled him to silence which alone can save us?
Dear mother – ?
Berengere. Do not call me so again.
[Turns away.
I have not – and I will not.
Yolanda. Oh!
Berengere. I cannot…
Yolanda. But can leave me so laden here within
This gulf's dishonour? Never!.. So return
And pledge him but to wait!
For this Venetian has now, I bode,
Something of evil more,
When once Amaury hears all that has passed.
Return!
Berengere. I cannot.
Yolanda (stung). Then hear, hear me! I
Too am a woman, and the woman wants,
The beauty and ache and dream and glow and urge
Of an unreckoned love are mine as yours.
I will not lose Amaury; but will tell him
Myself the truth.
Berengere. Then – I'll not stay for death,
And wait for shame. But now with Camarin
Will go from here.
Yolanda. Mother!
Berengere. To some retreat
Away!
Yolanda. Where still pursuit would follow! even,
I fear, Amaury's? —
And overtake you though it were as far
As the sea foams, or past the sandy void
Of stricken Africa? It would be vain.
Vain, and I cannot have you. No, but listen —
[Breaks off seeing Renier, on the castle threshold. His look is on her, but he comes down addressing Berengere.
Renier. She troubles you too much.
Berengere. My lord?
Renier. Too much.
You cherish her and reap unchastity
For gratitude – unchastity against
Our very son who was betrothed to her.
Yet see her shameless.
Berengere (dully). No; I think you wrong her.
[Yolanda moves apart.
Renier. Nobly you pity! But it will not veil her.
Rather the convent and the crucifix,
Matin and Vesper in a round remote,
And senseless beads, for such. – But what more now
Is she demanding?