Thou said’st, _I’ll to Lalain_. I do forbid it utterly. YVETTE Oh! DE VARDES Obey! It is thy seigneur’s last command. (_To himself._) Thou fool! Touch not her hand. ‘Tis red! YVETTE Monseigneur! DE VARDES Why art thou both so fair and foul a thing? YVETTE Ay, call me that—I care not! DE VARDES I’ll call thee “Death, Sweet Death—fair Treachery!” YVETTE Forgive, forgive! DE VARDES There’s blood upon thy hand. YVETTE Forgive! DE VARDES Alas! Thou didst betray! YVETTE I would that I were dead In Paimpont Wood, beside the Druid Stone! DE VARDES I would that I had never strayed that way! YVETTE I won that paper in that purse of gold! And it was life, I tell thee, life for both! O God! how all things here miscarry! DE VARDES I would that I had never seen thy face! YVETTE Oh, much I hated her, la belle Marquise, And yester morn I did betray her there, Just in the moment God gave o’er my soul! And she is dead—I cannot bring her back. Oh, swift the madness passed and came remorse, And I did hate myself, and strove to save!— Oh, woe, and double woe! He promised me! Oh, I have striven with a fiend from hell And not prevailed, though sorely I did strive! O God! O God! I’m weary of the light! Now, now thou too wilt die unless—unless— Ah, let me go—Farewell, a little while! DE VARDES Not till I know where thou dost go, and why. YVETTE Rémond Lalain gave me that paper. It was an order, written by himself, Whom even Carrier would not offend— A secret paper not for every eye. Reward he asked for certain services,— Two lives, your life and hers—and hers, I swear! He does not leave his villa all this day, But at the judgment bar you were to show That paper to Lambertye or Sarlat, And both were saved—both, both, I swear it, both! And now she’s dead—‘Twas life you flung away Shut in that purse! You gave it to Grégoire! Grégoire! He serves the Revolution, Is flint to all beside! Oh me! Oh me! I could not come myself, I could but send. I won it not till cockcrow of this morn! DE VARDES Till cockcrow! YVETTE