Le Bret.
[in the same tone].
My Lord!…
The Duke.
[haughtily].
Yet I were proud to take his hand!
[Bowing to Roxane.]
Roxane.
I go with you.
[The Duke bows to Le Bret, and goes with Roxane towards the steps.]
The Duke.
[pausing, while she goes up.]
I go with you.Ay, true, I envy him.
Look you, when life is brimful of success
—Though the past hold no action foul—one feels
A thousand self-disgusts, of which the sum
Is not remorse, but a dim, vague unrest;
And, as one mounts the steps of worldly fame,
The Dukes' furred mantles trail within their folds
A sound of dead illusions, vain regrets,
A rustle—scarce a whisper,—like as when,
Mounting the terrace steps, your mourning robe
Sweeps in its train the dying autumn leaves.
Roxane.
[ironically].
You are pensive?
