_Vittia._ No, not ever: no. But _now_, if you deny me.
_Yolanda._ Speak as a woman, If there is womanhood in you to speak. The name of Berengere Lusignan must Go clean unto the years, fair and unsullied. Nor must the bloody leap Of death fall on her from lord Renier's sword, A death too ready if he but suspect. No, she is holy! And holy are my lips Remembering that they may call her mother! All the bright world I breathe because of her, Laughter and roses, day-song of the sea, Not bitterness and loneliness and blight! All the bright world, Of voices, dear as waking to the dead-- Voices of love and tender earthly hopes-- O, all the beauty I was once forbid! For O!-- She lifted me, a lonely convent weed, A cloister thing unvisited of dew, Withering and untended and afar From the remembered ruin of my home, And here has planted me in happiness. Then, for her, all I am!
_Yolanda._ The price, say, of your silence.--I am weary.
_Vittia._ It is (_low and ashamed_) that you renounce Amaury's love.
_Yolanda._ Amaury's love.... You then would rend me there Where not Eternity could heal the wound Though all the River of God might be for balm! Cruelty like to this you could not do?
A swallow on the battlements to-day Fell from the hawk: you soothed and set it free. This, then, you would not--!
_Yolanda_ (_wrung for a moment then calm_). I had forgotten, you are of Venice--Venice Whose burdening is vast upon this land. Good-night.
_Yolanda._ More I loathe That love of him has led your thought so low.
_Vittia._ Stay! If you leave and do not choose at once--
Who's that?... (_starts_). Amaury?... You've expected him?
Your purpose, then! Is it now to renounce And force him from you or to have me breathe To Renier Lusignan the one word That will transmute his wrong to madness? Say it! For centuries have stained these walls But never a wife; never--
_Berengere._ Amaury Has spurred to us, Yolanda, from his post, And is below. But ... what has befallen?
_Vittia_ (_to_ YOLANDA). To-night Must be the end.
_Berengere_ (_as_ VITTIA _passes out_). What thing is this?
_Yolanda._ Mother, I cannot have him--here--Amaury! Defer him but a little--till to-morrow. I cannot see him now.
_Yolanda._ Help me to think. Go to him, go, and say Some woman thing--that I am ill--that I Am at confession--penance--that--Ah, say But anything!