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. He would teach her all he knew of life so that if the Hand should ever reach his shoulder, she would be able to defend herself. I do not know if I will have to escape quickly once more. Until that was done a certain experience of life assured him that a girl is a locked coldness against a man’s approach.
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