"Your lord!" stammered Vincent, red to the roots of his hair. "Your
lord! I never knew that you loved a lord." He gulped, and went on at
random--"And where is your lord?"
"I cannot tell. He may be in this castle. I only know that I shall see
him when his time comes."
"If he is in this castle, Isoult," said Vincent, sober again, "his
time is not yet."
She caught her breath.
"How do you know that?" she panted.
"I know that there is a great lord in the Red Chamber, him that Madam
Maulfry tends with her own hands."
"Ah, ah! You have seen him?"
"No, I have never seen him. He is very ill."
Isoult gazed at him, shocked to the soul. Ill, and she not near by!
"Oh, Vincent," she whispered. "Oh, Vincent!"
"Yes, Isoult,"--Vincent had caught some breath of her horror, and
whispered,--"Yes, Isoult, he is very ill. He has been ill since the
autumn, with bleeding and bleeding and bleeding. I know that is true,
though I have never seen him since he was brought here swathed up in a
litter; but I once saw Madam Maulfry bury something in the wood, very
early in the morning. And I was frightened. Ah! I have seen strange
things here, such as I dare not utter even now. So I watched my time
and dug up what she had concealed. They were bloody clothes, Isoult,
very many of them, and ells long! So it is true."
Isoult swayed about like a broken bough. Vincent ran to catch her,
fearing she would fall. He felt the shaking of her body under his
hands. That frightened him. He began to beseech.
"Isoult, dear Isoult, I have hurt you, I who would rather die, I who--
am very fond of you, Isoult. Look now, be yourself again--think of
this. He may not be ill by now; he is likely much better. I will find
out for you. Trust me to find it all out."
"No, no, no," she whispered in haste; "you must do nothing, can do
nothing. This is mine. I will find out"
"Will you ask Madam Maulfry?" said Vincent. "She will kill me if she
knows that I have told you. Not that I mind that," he added in his own
excuse, "but you will gain nothing that way."
"No," Isoult answered curtly. "I will find out by myself. Hush! Some
one is coming. Go now."
Vincent went slowly away, for he too heard the sweep of Maulfry's
robe. There was a long looking-glass in the wall, flickering over
which Isoult's eyes encountered their own woeful image-brooding,
reproachful, haunted eyes; this would never do for her present
business. Determined to meet craft with craft, she wried her mouth to
a smile, she drove peace into her eyes, took a bosomful of breath, and
turned to be actress for the first time in her life. This meant to
realize and then express herself. She was like to become an artist.