to your kiss.
Ah, you remember; you will hear me?

_Renier._ No!
Though you are cunning.--Thus you wove the mesh
About Amaury--till he could not move
Beyond you.

_Yolanda._ For his sake I ask it.

_Renier._ For
No sake but to o'ersway him with your eyes
In secret, thus, and with
Your hair that he believes an aureole
Brought with you out of Heaven.

_Berengere._ Again--wrong.

_Renier._ So deem you and, my Berengere, I grieve,
Desiring much your peace.

_Berengere._ It grieves you not.

_Renier._ Then not! and half I fear--you hear?--it should not.
There's midnight in this thing and mystery.
Does she not love--Camarin?

_Yolanda_ (_trembling_). Say no more.
Be all--all as you will.

_Renier._ That brings you low:
But brings to me no light--only again
The stumbling in suspicion.

_Yolanda._ It should not.

_Renier_ (_with a sudden gleam_).
To-morrow then, unless Amaury runs
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.