DUKE (shaking his head).
Who knows?
LE BRET.
What I fear for him is not an assault; it is solitude, hunger, winter stealthily entering his poor abode. These are the enemies that may lay him low.—Each morning he buckles his belt a little tighter. His nose has now the sallowness of old ivory. His wardrobe is reduced to one suit of black.
DUKE.
Ah! he at least is not a parvenu. So, do not pity him too much. He has lived free from obligations and humiliating restraint.
LE BRET (smiling sadly).
Duke, Duke!....
DUKE.
Yes, I know: I have everything, and he has nothing.... But I should very much like to shake his hand.