When we see him again, in the agonies of death, it is in the ancient dungeon of his ancestors in Brittany. The faithful shield-bearer has taken him across the seas in a bark. Now he is sheltered from all surprise. But Isolde? When his eyes, which seem to be forever closed, will awake to life, if they are not gladdened by his soul's sweet sovereign, they will close again forever. Isolde knows her loved one's retreat; she is coming to him, but the minutes are centuries, and the sea is deserted and void, even to the silent horizon. See, the hero now comes to himself with the dear name upon his lips. Tristan cannot die while Isolde is still in the empire of the sun. The gates of death, which had already closed upon him with a clang, reopen wide before this invincible desire to see once more her with whom alone he can lose himself in eternal night. Void and deserted is the sea! Thus it is that the fury of despair tears Tristan's soul. Love and fever mingling their delirium, he writhes upon his bed of pain with cries of superhuman suffering. Nothing can render the impression of this frightful agony, in which the flame of love cannot be extinguished by death, of this distracted and expectant soul, retarding the supreme departure. At intervals the hero falls to the ground, seemingly dead; but when the weeping shield-bearer stoops to hear a last sigh, a last palpitation, Tristan in a low voice murmurs the name of Isolde! Yet once again hope springs to life in the breast of this martyr to love; he perceives the ship, although common eyes cannot distinguish it, and on the ship Isolde, who makes a sign to him. "Dost thou not see it yet? Tender and majestic she crosses the breadth of the sea like a sovereign; she comes carried toward land as by waves of intoxicating flowers; her smile will pour out supreme consolation. Oh, Isolde! Isolde! how beautiful, how welcome art thou!" The ship is, in truth, signalled. The soul's eyes are not deceived. All sails spread, it flies over the waters. She approaches--she, the enchanting one, she comes. What delirious impatience, what joyous transports!