Fitting revenge through Camarin of Paphos,
Your lover, you shall clasp him openly
Before all of Lusignan.
Yolanda. No; no, no!
The thought of it is soil!.. Rather … his death!
Renier. What, what?
Berengere. My lord, she knows not what she says.
The unaccustomed wind of these ill hours
Has torn tranquillity from her and reason.
Yolanda (realising). Yes, as she says – tranquillity and reason.
[Strains to smile.
These hours of ill!
Renier. I'll send her Camarin.
[Goes, looking steadfastly back.
Yolanda (turning, then, to Berengere).
His mood and mien – that tremor in his throat,
Unfaltering. I fear him.
Berengere. Life is fear.
No step was ever taken in the world
But from a brink of danger, or in flight
From happiness whose air is ever sin.
It sickens me.
Yolanda. Mother!
Berengere. Nothing; a pain
Here in my breast.
[Sits.
Yolanda. And it is all through him
Who as a guest came pledged into this house.
Came with the chivalry and manly show
Of reverence and grace, that he too well
Has learnt in cunning lands and used to lure.
[Camarin appears from garden.
Ah, and he seeks us now! unwhelmed of it!
Ready of step, impassive, cold! And see —
[Camarin bows forcedly.
A flawless courtesy! as of a king!
Can he not smile too on his handiwork?
Our days were merciful and he has made
Each moment's beat a blow upon the breast.
Honour was here and innocence lies now
A sacrifice that pain cannot consume. —
Camarin. Or death.
Yolanda. Then have you not, unshameable!
A help for it or healing? you who know
So well the world and its unwonted ways!
A man would have, a man.
Camarin. And I am barren.
My brain an arid waste under remorse.
Only one thing it yields – the love of her
My love has made unholy.