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And I had thought that in any event, you had no earthly right to call me Claire." "Superficially, the reproach is just," he assented, "but what was the name your Palomides cried in battle, pray? Was it not Ysoude! when his searching sword had at last found the joints of his adversary's armor, or when the foe's helmet spouted blood?
Meanwhile, I love you consumedly, and you do not care a snap of your fingers for me." "I I am sorry," she said, inadequately. "You are the more gracious." A hand, feather-soft, fell upon, his shoulder, "And who was your Ysoude, Jean Bulmer?" "A woman who died twenty years ago, a woman dead before you were born, my dear." Claire gave a little stifled moan, "Oh oh, I loathe her!" she cried.
Otherwise, you might be cruelly upset by your compassion and sympathy. Yet stay; is there not another similitude? Assuredly, for you love me much as Ysoude loved Palomides. What the deuce is all this lamentation to you?
And at the last it was his wife who mixed his gruel and smoothed his pillow and sat up with him at night; so that if he died thinking of Madame Palomides rather than of La Beale Ysoude, who shall blame him? Not I, for one," said John Bulmer, stoutly; "If it was not heroic, it was at least respectable, and, above all, natural; and I expect some day to gasp out a similar valedictory.
And I dare assert that long before this he had learned to chuckle over his youthful follies, and had protested to his wife that La Beale Ysoude squinted, or was freckled, or the like; and had insisted, laughingly, that the best of us must sow our wild oats.
Ysoude is dead; and I love my young French wife as thoroughly as Palomides did, with as great a passion as was possible to either of us oldsters. Well! all life is a compromise; I compromise with tradition by loving her unselfishly, by loving her with the very best that remains in John Bulmer. "And yet, I wish "True, I may be hanged at noon to-morrow, which would somewhat disconcert my plan.
Still the name was sweet, and I protest the Saracen had a perfect right to mention it whenever he felt so inclined." "You jest at everything," she lamented "which is one of the many traits that I dislike in you." "Knowing your heart to be very tender," he submitted, "I am endeavoring to present as jovial and callous an appearance as may be possible to you, whom I love as Palomides loved Ysoude.
Ysoude! when the line of adverse spears wavered and broke, and the Saracen was victor? Was it not Ysoude! he murmured riding over alien hill and valley in pursuit of the Questing Beast? 'the glatisant beast'? Assuredly, he cried Ysoude! and meantime La Beale Ysoude sits snug in Cornwall with Tristram, who dons his armor once in a while to roll Palomides in the sand coram populo.
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