(bowing to Roxane). Farewell.
ROXANE.
I'll see you to the gate.
(The Duke bows to Le Bret, and goes, with Roxane, towards the house.)
DUKE (stopping a moment).
I envy him at times. You see, Roxane,
When we have had too much success in life,
Although we've done no very wicked act—
We feel within a thousand sickly stings
Of self-reproach; their total is too small
To constitute remorse, but large enough
To keep us in a dull uneasiness.
Thus ducal mantles sweep, as we ascend
The steps of greatness, with their fringe of furs
A rustling heap of withered sentiments,
As now your sombre train, upon the porch,
Draws in its folds a bunch of autumn leaves.
ROXANE (ironically).
You are in a very sentimental mood.
THE DUKE.