She smiled mechanically at the audience, holding her violin limply, feeling the hot lights on her made-up face. ‘She hasn’t said so, but I presume Valade had got hold of all the useful papers,’ Gerald went on. 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. The entrance was barred against them; and they had the additional mortification of hearing Sheppard's loud laughter at their discomfiture.
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