Why don’t you wait and see if you do truly love me, then I can believe you? Then I know I am worth waiting for. ‘Gérard, do not go,’ she cried, breathless. Let’s go on climbing now. Quite ordinary. He got off on it. He passed his arm under that of the constable, and drew him aside. 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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