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. ’ ‘Is she now? And what would you be wanting of her, may I ask?’ ‘Because she knows something that may make this fool understand that I am the mistress of—’ She broke off. . It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. The tension was palpable.
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