"You breathe like one in pain, and your voice is strange." "Hush, Garlotte." "Am I not right?" "Pelleas must not hear us talking." They were silent awhile, lying in each other's arms with no sound save that of their breathing. Igraine's misery burnt in her and cried out for sympathy; Garlotte, half wise by instinct, yearned to share a trouble which she did not wholly comprehend, to advise where she was partly ignorant. The girl felt a great stirring of her heart towards Igraine, but could say nothing for the moment. Having no better eloquence at command she raised her head and kissed the other's lips, a warm, impulsive kiss that seemed as rich in sympathy as a rose in scent. Igraine's confidence woke at the touch of the girl's lips; she hungered even for this child's comfort, her simple guidance in this matter of life and love. It was easy enough to die, hard to exist as a mere spiritless Galatea devoid of soul. "Garlotte!" "Yes, Igraine." "Imagine that you were married to a man you hated, and you loved Renan." Garlotte raised herself in bed. "And Renan loved you and knew nothing?" "Yes." "Would you tell Renan the truth?" Garlotte remained motionless, propped on her two hands, and looking out of the window into the streaming moonlight. Her brown hair touched Igraine's face as she lay still and watched her. The room was very silent, not a breeze seemed stirring, the roses athwart the window were still as though carved in wood. Garlotte spoke very softly, looking up with her face white and solemn in the moonlight. "I should tell Renan," she said. "Why?" "Because I love him." "Yes--go on." "I should not love him rightly in God's eyes if I kept him from the truth." The coverlet rose and fell over Igraine's bosom, and there was a queer twisting pain at her heart. "But if you were never to see Renan again?" she said. "If I told him the truth?" "Yes, child." Garlotte dared not look into Igraine's face; her lips were twitching, and her eyes were hot with tears. "I do not know," she faltered. "Think, child, think!" "I should not tell him." In half a breath she had contradicted herself with a little gasp. "Yes, yes, I should tell him." "The truth?" "Because I should not be happy even with him if I were acting a lie." Igraine gave a dry sob, and drew Garlotte down again to her side. They lay very close, almost mouth to mouth, their arms about each other's bodies. "I love Pelleas." "Yes, yes." "I will tell him the truth." "Ah, Igraine, it is best, it is best." "But it will kill me if I lose him." "Ah, Igraine, but he will love you all the more." It was Garlotte who broke into tears, and hid her face in the other's bosom. Igraine's eyes were as dry as a blue sky parched with a summer sun, and her voice failed her like the slack string of a lute. The moonlight slanted down upon them both. Before dawn they had fallen asleep in each other's arms.