Oh, those old days when by the shore we walked While sank the sun beneath the emerald waves, And wild sea birds flashed all their silver wings, And long we talked of France and liberty! How thou art tamed, Yvette, Yvette Charruel! Thou carest not now for France and liberty! YVETTE It is not true! Thou knowest that I care! LALAIN This sultry night I speak to patriot hearts Of War, Dumouriez, Brunswick, Capet! All Nantes will throng to hear me where I stand, In the Church of Saint Jean, who’s now become, From crypt to spire, one mighty Jacobin! High in the gilt tribune beneath the roof, The starry roof where the archangels live! Faces me Michael with his flaming sword, And Raphael watches me with widened eyes, And Gabriel frowns between his splendid wings Because there’s no more incense! When I speak, The painted walls all vanish like a mist! On distant plains the drum begins to beat, The great dome lifts—above the angel heads I see the stars— YVETTE There are no stars to-night! LALAIN There are! There are! Eternally they shine Beyond this din, beyond these sulphurous clouds! And there’s a stairway, red and white and blue, By which to climb to some most famous star Of glory and of love! Yvette! Yvette! Climb thou with me unto that golden star! YVETTE Rémond Lalain— LALAIN Come thou with me, Yvette! Come thou with me from out this sluggish place! Come thou with me into the furious storm! What dost thou here, thou spirit of the wind, Restless, with deep eyes and with parted lips? Thou knowest thou hast naught to do with holy things. Tear off that white headdress! Red is thy colour! YVETTE Ay, red is my colour! LALAIN Last night, the while I spake of War and all the place was still, A sudden vision blazed above the lights— I saw thee dance the Carmagnole! YVETTE Now, now! What whispers he to her upon the road? LALAIN To-night—ah, should I raise my eyes to-night And see thee smiling there, Yvette, Yvette! Beside thy sisters in the galleries! Upon thy twilight hair the bonnet-rouge, At thy small waist a pistol and a dirk— Only the Revolution in thy soul And in thy heart my name, my name, Yvette! [_Thunder._ It thunders now, but ‘twill be clear to-night. The moon will shine, the roads will all be white. YVETTE The roads will all be white, the moon will shine, The poplars quiver and the eglantine, The broom and honeysuckle will be sweet, Upon the road to Vannes—