(ARTHUR _goes out. A pause._ LAUNCELOT _fights against the returning passion which he thought he had conquered_.) GUENEVERE Do I grow old And negligible? Ah, so long away And never a word, never a single word! I think that Launcelot is so long away He forgets Guenevere. LAUNCELOT If he remembered An hour when he forgot her---- GUENEVERE You are changed; Pale in the cheek, cold in the heart; or is it The young eyes of a maid, and her soft hands Touching you? Who is this fair maid? LAUNCELOT My Queen, You heard me. Thank her, if you find it thanks That I am here to serve you. GUENEVERE You are changed. Something, I know not what, has wrought in you. You are still absent from me. I hear your voice, But it is like the dream-voice that was all I had, these days of desolation. Tell me, Am I, too, altered? LAUNCELOT You are beautiful As when I first beheld you, Guenevere; More beautiful. GUENEVERE And you, you too, have suffered. You have been wounded, and I was not there. Ill chances happen, when you go from me. Why did you go from me? And there was none To love me. LAUNCELOT Guenevere! The King---- GUENEVERE The King! He gives me to your hands; defends me so, With circumspection, like a palisade From far away; not with a strong right arm About my body and a sword in hand. I am but a custom and an effigy Robed for his realm’s observances; and he Remembers only that I wear a crown. He is as far from me as the night stars. I cannot touch him, cannot wound him. LAUNCELOT Queen, I love him. Speak not so. GUENEVERE I am alone, And there is none to love me. LAUNCELOT Here am I, With my sword, with my blood, every last drop Of blood that’s in my body, and it is yours. GUENEVERE And yet you left me--left me to Mordred’s mercy. I am afraid of Mordred, Launcelot. He has barbed your very absence; whispers that you Fled from a rumour grown too dangerous Because you dared not fight against the truth-- Ah, now you put your hand upon your sword-- Yes, even this. He has been diligent, Has Agravaine, his brother, at his side. And Colegrevance has joined them, with his friends Patrice and Mador; and these go about Shrugging suspicion at me, breathing hints Foul as a fog about my name. LAUNCELOT