Roxane.
None too hard. I but drove quietly forward in my carriage, and when some hidalgo of haughty mien would have stayed me, lo! I showed at the window my sweetest smile, and these Señors being (with no disrespect to you) the most gallant gentlemen in the world,—I passed on!
Carbon.
True, that smile is a passport! But you must have been asked frequently to give an acount of where you were going, Madame?
Roxane.
Yes, frequently. Then I would answer, 'I go to see my lover.' At that word the very fiercest Spaniard of them all would gravely shut the carriage-door, and, with a gesture that a king might envy, make signal to his men to lower the muskets levelled at me;—then, with melancholy but withal very graceful dignity—his beaver held to the wind that the plumes might flutter bravely, he would bow low, saying to me, 'Pass on, Señorita!'
Christian.
But, Roxane…
Roxane.
Forgive me that I said, 'my lover'! But bethink you, had I said 'my husband' not one of them had let me pass!
Christian.
But…
