Berengere. Little.
Renier. Not the means
Still to deceive Amaury?
Berengere. Renier … no.
[Speaks loathly.
But I have a request that, if you grant,
Will lead peace back to us … and from us draw
This fang of fate.
Renier. Ah.
Berengere. Yes.
Renier (slowly). And we might be
As those that wedded love?
Berengere. Perhaps.
Renier. That – love!
[A pause.
Then it shall be, at once… But no, I first
Have a confession.
Berengere. You?
Renier. A pang! – For days
[Takes her hand.
Before I found Yolanda on the breast
Of Camarin of Paphos —
I suffered in the furnace of suspicion
The fume and suffocation of the thought
That you were the guilty one – you my own wife.
[She recoils to Yolanda, who comes up.
I did; but rue, rue it!..
… Yet – it is just
That you recoil even as now you do
From stain upon your wedded constancy…
And time that is e'er-pitiful must pass
Over it —
Before there is forgiveness. And perhaps
Then I shall win you as I never have. —
Now the request.
Berengere. That now … I cannot plead.
[Sees Yolanda harden. Is impelled.
And yet I must… It is that, till I bid,
Amaury may not know of this … not know
This trouble fallen from a night of evil —
Pitiless on us as a meteor's ash.
Renier. Not of it? he? not know?
Berengere. Trust to me.
Renier. How!
And to this wanton's perfidy to bind
Him witless to her – with a charm perhaps —
Or, past releasing, with a philtre? She
Whom now he holds pure as a spirit sped
From immortality, or the fair fields
Of the sun, to be his bride?