this love heal the soul of its pains, and how could it

answer the question of "Mesa" — the man who one day heard the call of his Lord... And behold, this love turns upon her as a hell, burning them both together with its raging fire; and behold, the woman is the road to perdition, and the man is in a barren spir-itual desert... And "Ysé" — the complete woman — wants every-thing, and feels that this beloved gives her only a little of himself, and grudges her that living ember which she searches for in the depths of his soul... She has

taken her share of his body, but... And Ysé slips from the hands of "Mesa" and flees to "Amalric"... and she who dares the first step follows it with the second...

Act Three: Ysé and Amalric in her house in one of the southern Chinese ports. The time is late afternoon and the sun is on its way to setting... From afar are heard the sounds of explosions and fighting, of screaming and wailing... revolution in China... and the victims among the whites grow in number day by day... Ysé and Amalric are in certain danger, with no escape... They await death; the important thing is not to fall into the hands of the rebels, and against that Amalric has taken his precaution with a bomb he has prepared for this purpose, to explode in the house just before morning... And he calms Ysé's terror... But Ysé does not fear death — rather she wants it, for in it is the end of her torment and of her conscience's reproach... And memory carries her back to her past and to the victims of her

waywardness... She is the weak woman, weeping and sobbing and finding no consolation... for she has wronged her husband and her children... and her lover, whose child she carried in her womb?

And at her mention of "Mesa," "Amalric" asks her: — And did this man truly love you?

And Ysé answers him after deep reflection: — He loved me as you could never love me... and I loved him as I do not love you... But I... never possessed him; there remained in his soul something strange to me... something impos-sible... So how can he blame me, when he did not give himself?... And I withdrew because I wanted life — life like the rest of mankind... and I wanted to break free of that love which was nothing but death itself...

And Amalric leaves the room, and Ysé remains alone; a dread still-ness and an all-covering darkness settle over the place, save for the light of a faint candle that illumines Ysé's face, her image reflected in a mirror at the side; and she looses her hair, and it falls in wavy blond locks upon her shoulders... And suddenly she freezes where she stands... a movement from outside, and the fall of footsteps... The door opens and "Mesa" appears in the darkness. He approaches Ysé until he is a few steps behind her...

— Here I am, "Ysé"! I, "Mesa"! — — Here I am... —

My letters of this past year — did they not reach you? Why did you not answer them?... What is my fault?... Speak... What happened? Why did you leave me?... You carried my child in your womb and fled with the other... My child... where is my child?... Answer...

A broken reproach, like delirium, and "Ysé" frozen in her place,

not answering... A little later "Amalric" enters. — A struggle between the two men, at the end of which Mesa falls to the floor unconscious, his arm broken...

Amalric searches Mesa's pockets and finds in them a pass of safe passage, and says to Ysé: — We are saved... Let him die in our place. Our bomb will explode upon him... And Amalric and Ysé go out, leaving Mesa stretched upon a chair in the middle of the room...

The night is full... the sky clear, and the processions of glittering stars are seen through the open windows and the wide, gaping balconies. The moon sends its rays upon Mesa's face; he stirs where he lies, and after long con-templation he says, in supplication and in praise:

Here I am in my burning chapel (1) On my right hand and my left I see a forest of torches surrounding me!

They are not lighted candles, but mighty stars, like a procession of blazing virgins before the face of God — so is Mary glimpsed in the holy pictures!

And I, the man, the reasoning one, Cast upon the earth, receiving death, As though upon a splendid bier XXXX

Hail, my sisters, you shining ones! Not one of you carries the soul; but in the midst of you all, the Earth

has brought forth her human, and you, like a million white ewes,

turn your heads toward her, and she is like the shepherd and like the Christ of the worlds! Hail, O stars! Here I am, alone! No priest,

(1) Chapelle ardente — an expres-sion used among the Catholics of France for the room in which the dead man is laid shortly before burial, usually surrounded