The doctor saw it, though he did not see whence it came; and he made straight for the contraband property. But the soldier stopped him.
“’Tis nought but a prescription, sir; I told you I was a doctor, well degreed. The writing’s bad, I fain would have you see it not.”
“And I myself would just fain see it.”
“Ah! ’tis a little love affair, perhaps of hers. Pardon.” Here he picked up the note and lace, and handed them to Rosina.
The doctor deserted the soldier directly, and fell upon his little ward. “Quick, quick, the paper!”
“If I could but change it,” thought she; and she did. In a pretended little fright she leant against the table, covered a paper with her hand, and the deceptive deed was done.
’Twas but a list of groceries!
“A fool—a fool—a very fool am I,” thought the old doctor. But he did not say so.
Here there was the sound of weeping on the part of a young lady, who was heard to remark, in a tearful voice, that such oppression was intolerable, and such a life quite unendurable. These remarks, unusual in the sprightly Rosina—for she loved to defy the doctor—caused inexpressible pain to the drunken soldier, who was still reeling about; and perhaps somebody knew the little stabs these same remarks would give.
“What man knows woman’s art,
Faith—what man knows a part?”