” 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. Why do you look so sad?” She opened her eyes wider and stifled her emotions. "Tut, tut! Don't exaggerate. Besides those who conducted themselves more peaceably, the conductors of the procession noticed with considerable uneasiness, large bands of men armed with staves, bludgeons, and other weapons, who were flying across the field in the same direction. Daily contact with actual human beings all the more inclined her toward the imaginative. She was writhing to get her hands loose and found herself gasping with passionate violence, “It’s damnable!—damnable!” to the manifest disgust of the fatherly policeman on her right. “Does he know that I am involved with someone?” “Of course he knows. Wood in the deepest mourning. En tout cas, why had he not returned? She pondered the question as, later, she paced about her favourite retreat. Anyhow, that is how things are. She stole her glances sideways like the rest of the women. ‘Why does this person say you are mad?’ ‘Because I am risking having my head blown off,’ Gerald answered cheerfully.
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