etter, she says, in answer
to Arkel's questioning. She asks if she is alone in the room. Her
husband is present, answers Arkel. "If you are afraid, he will go away.
He is very unhappy." "Golaud is here?" she says; "why does he not come
to me?" Golaud staggers to the bed. He begs the others to withdraw for a
moment, as he must speak with her alone. When they have left him, his
torturing suspicions, suspicions that will not down, find voice. He
entreats her to tell him the truth. "The truth must be spoken to one
about to die." Did she love Pelleas? he asks in agony. "Why, yes, I
loved him--where is he?" The answer maddens him. "Do you not understand?
Will you not understand? It seems to me--it seems to me--well, then, it
is this: I ask you if you loved him with a guilty love? Were you--were
you both guilty?" "No, no; we were not guilty," she replies; "why do you
ask me that?" Arkel and the physician appear at the door. "You may come
in," says Golaud despairingly; "it is useless, I shall never know! I
shall die here like a blind man!" "You will kill her," warns Arkel. "Is
it you, grandfather?" questions Melisande; "is it true that winter is
already coming?--it is cold, and there are no more leaves." "Are you
cold? Shall I close the windows?" asks Golaud. "No, no, not till the sun
has sunk into the sea--it sets slowly." Arkel asks her if she wishes to
see her child. "What child?" she inquires. Arkel tells her that she is a
mother. The child is brought, and put into her arms. Melisande can
scarcely lift her arms to take her. "She does not laugh, she is little,"
says Melisande; "she, too, will weep--I pity her." Gradually the room
has filled with the women-servants of the castle, who range themselves
in silence along the walls and wait. "She is going to sleep," observes
Arkel; "her eyes are full of tears. It is her soul, now, that weeps. Why
does she stretch her arms out so?--what does she wish?" "Toward her
child, without doubt," answers the physician. "It is the struggle of
motherhood against...." "At this moment?--At once?" cries Golaud, in a
renewed outburst of anguish.... "Oh, oh! I must speak to her! Melisande!
Melisande!--leave me alone with her!" "Trouble her not," gravely
interposes Arkel. "Do not speak to her again.--You know not what the
soul is.--We must speak in low tones now. She must no longer be
disturbed. The human soul is very silent. The human soul likes to depart
alone. It suffers so timidly! But the sadness