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"
"He was right. You are a bold robber, Scaramouche."
"It is in the character," said he. "Your father believes in having
his mimes play upon the stage the parts that suit their natural
temperaments."
"Yes, you take everything you want, don't you?" She looked up at
him, half adoringly, half shyly.
"If it is possible," said he. "I took his consent to our marriage
by main force from him. I never waited for him to give it. When, in
fact, he refused it, I just snatched it from him, and I'll defy him
now to win it back from me. I think that is what he most resents."
She laughed, and launched upon an animated answer. But he did not
hear a word of it. Through the bustle of traffic on the quay a
cabriolet, the upper half of which was almost entirely made of glass,
had approached them. It was drawn by two magnificent bay horses and
driven by a superbly livened coachman.
In the cabriolet alone sat a slight young girl wrapped in a lynx-fur
pelisse, her face of a delicate loveliness. She was leaning forward,
her lips parted, her eyes devouring Scaramouche until they drew his
gaze.


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