d
If you would love me!--Roxane, tell me so!

ROXANE (with a little grimace):
I hoped for cream,--you give me gruel! Say
How love possesses you?

CHRISTIAN:
Oh utterly!

ROXANE:
Come, come!. . .unknot those tangled sentiments!

CHRISTIAN:
Your throat I'd kiss it!

ROXANE:
Christian!

CHRISTIAN:
I love thee!

ROXANE (half-rising):
Again!

CHRISTIAN (eagerly, detaining her):
No, no! I love thee not!

ROXANE (reseating herself):
'Tis well!

CHRISTIAN:
But I adore thee!

ROXANE (rising, and going further off):
Oh!

CHRISTIAN:
I am grown stupid!

ROXANE (dryly):
And that displeases me, almost as much
As 'twould displease me if you grew ill-favored.

CHRISTIAN:
But. . .

ROXANE:
Rally your poor eloquence that's flown!

CHRISTIAN:
I. . .

ROXANE:
Yes, you love me, that I know. Adieu.

(She goes toward her house.)

CHRISTIAN:
Oh, go not yet! I'd tell you--

ROXANE (opening the door):
You adore me?
I've heard it very oft. No!--Go away!

CHRISTIAN:
But I would fain. . .

(She shuts the door in his face.)

CYRANO (who has re-entered unseen):
I' faith! It is successful!

Scene 3.VI.

Christian, Cyrano, two pages.

CHRISTIAN:
Come to my aid!

CYRANO:
Not I!

CHRISTIAN:
But I shall die,
Unless at once I win back her fair favor.

CYRANO:
And how can I, at once, i' th' devil's name,
Lesson you in. . .

CHRISTIAN (seizing his arm):
Oh, she is there!

(The window of the balcony is now lighted up.)

CYRANO (moved):
Her window!

CHRISTIAN:
Oh! I shall die!

CYRANO:
Speak lower!

CHRISTIAN (in a whisper):
I shall die!

CYRANO:
The night is dark. . .

CHRISTIAN:
Well!

CYRANO:
All can be repaired.
Although you merit not. Stand there, poor wretch!
Fronting the balcony! I'll go beneath
And prompt your words to you. . .

CHRISTIAN:
But. . .

CYRANO:
Hold your tongue!

THE PAGES (reappearing at back--to Cyrano):
Ho!

CYRANO:
Hush!

(He signs to them to speak softly.)

FIRST PAGE (in a low voice):
We've played the serenade you bade
To Montfleury!

CYRANO (quickly, in a low voice):
Go! lurk in ambush there,
One at this street corner, and one at that;
And if a passer-by should here intrude,
Play you a tune!

SECOND PAGE:
What tune, Sir Gassendist?

CYRANO:
Gay, if a woman comes,--for a man, sad!
(The pages disappear, on