What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest. ” The lights sank, the prelude to the third act was beginning, the music rose and fell in crowded intimations of lovers separated—lovers separated with scars and memories between them, and the curtain went reefing up to display Tristan lying wounded on his couch and the shepherd crouching with his pipe. Gerald swore. Not with the unavoidable explanations, and the need to secrete the sword and hide it before returning the priest’s horse to its stable—which had been her excuse for running from Martha’s protestations. Hitherto you’ve seen only my easy, kindly side. In the distance a bell clanged, and chattering broke out in the doorway as several nuns came crowding in. It was a refusal of expediency, he said, and not an absolute refusal. ” Mr.
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