Long ago, To Paris and my King I rode away, Long ago, in the freshness of the world! I left thee there, all safe in convent fold— Fair were the fruit trees in that garden old, Warm shone the sun, the silver fountain played. I left thee there and thought to find again, When King and Crown were saved and devoir done, The battle o’er, the bugles sounding peace!— The King he is in heaven, the Crown is lost, The battle’s to the strong, the war drum rattles on. Long lay I in the prison of La Force; A dream I had that thou wouldst wait for me, Beside the fountain, by the bright fruit trees. Thou must have known that bars kept me from thee! Thou must have known that I did love thee true! Thou must have known that I did longing wait The rainbow after storm, the halcyon time When, stilled the jar and discord of the mind, The all unfettered heart might speak of love! But ah, the garden’s sealed. Thou art not there! Thou wouldst not wait the while— YVETTE Outside I kneel; Outside the garden, outside Paradise! Oh, woe! Oh, bliss! DE VARDES Weep not! YVETTE I love thee so! DE VARDES Paimpont! Paimpont! I feel thy magic wind! _Reënter_ GRÉGOIRE. GRÉGOIRE Citoyen Vardes— YVETTE Grégoire, Grégoire! the purse— The purse of gold!— GRÉGOIRE Hein? DE VARDES Let be! Let be! No purse was there! Dost hear, dost hear, Yvette? No purse, no gold, no paper, no Lalain! Thou dost not think that I would take my life? YVETTE No! DE VARDES Well said, and like the Duchess Jeanne! Let not Grégoire mistake thee either! YVETTE I said I know not what, Grégoire, nor why! Sometimes a woman says she knows not what. Why should I talk of purses, faith, now why! GRÉGOIRE What do you here, Citoyenne? YVETTE I know not. I strayed this way, a gaoler let me in. ‘Tis of the sights of Nantes, this church, this gaol! GRÉGOIRE (_to_ DE VARDES) I have in charge to guard you through the street To the old Prison of the Séminaire. They who lodge there go onward to the Loire! [_He turns to_ DE L’ORIENT. DE VARDES (_to_ YVETTE) Oh, sunken eyes! Oh, cheek so deadly pale! Oh, rest thee, rest thee, child, in still Morbec! Our Lady guard thee, guide thee with her hand. Farewell—