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“A silly little priestess who knew nothing of life at all until she came to you. Only of course I must begin something else at once. At last he could bear it no longer. “Please forgive me, Lucy. He became really companionable, discussed the new story he had in mind, and asked some questions about colour. She turned to the stage, and Tristan was wounded in Kurvenal’s arms, with Isolde at his feet, and King Mark, the incarnation of masculine force and obligation, the masculine creditor of love and beauty, stood over him, and the second climax was ending in wreaths and reek of melodies; and then the curtain was coming down in a series of short rushes, the music had ended, and the people were stirring and breaking out into applause, and the lights of the auditorium were resuming.
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