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. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being. Suddenly she became worthy of attention again and her husband teased her and joked with her as Sebastian openly admired her beauty, teasing her and patting her shoulders, pulling off her headscarf. “Sooner or later, John, it will come to that. ‘Please to sit, monsieur.
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