Gwymplane [knocking his fists to his forehead.]
You mean this letter came from him who is to marry the Duchess tomorrow? He who looks like the Athenian Victory. [glancing at his own distorted limbs] But Dea cannot see this. [and in a voice almost of triumph] And she cannot see him! He must have stolen her.
Phedro [acidly]
His eloquence would steal the pollen out of a flower.
Gwymplane
Ah Dea! But after all—he may have told her.
Phedro
What?
Gwymplane [with a strange sad gesture]
How I am.