SHE: But is he not of beauty high and noble, of god-like perfection far
beyond poor, common flesh and blood? 'Tis so the painter has limned his
face, 'tis so I dream him to my fancy.
HE: Lady, I am but a Fool, let the picture answer thee.
SHE: And he, this mighty Duke of god-like beauty doth woo me to his
wife--
HE (_bitterly_): With my tongue.
SHE: Why came he not in his own glorious person?
HE: Lady, though a Duke, he hath his moments of wisdom and argueth thus:
"I, though a Duke, am yet a man. Thus, should I as Duke woo her, she may
wed the Duke, loving not the man--"
SHE: And so he sent a Fool as his ambassador! And so do I scorn this
god-like Duke--
HE: Ha! Scorn him! My lady--O Yolande, what of me?
She: Thou, false to him and faithless to thy trust, didst woo me for
thyself which was ill in thee. But thou didst throw the terrible Red Gui
into my lily-pool which was brave in thee. Thou didst endure chains and a
prison undaunted which was noble in thee. Thou didst this night at peril of
thy life save me from shame, but thou didst bear me urgently here into the
wild, and in the wild here lie I beside thee, lost, yet warm and sleepy and
safe beneath thy cloak--and so--'tis very well--
HE: Safe, Yolande? Hath thy heart told thee this at last? But thou didst
fear me--
SHE: Because to-night thou didst clasp me in cruel arms and spake me words
of love passionate and fierce and--and--
HE: Kissed thee, Yolande!
SHE: Many times--O cruel! And bore me hither and lost me in these dark
solitudes! Here was good cause for any maid to fear thee methinks.
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