RISTIAN:
This little spot!

CYRANO (taking the letter, with an innocent look):
A spot?

CHRISTIAN:
A tear!

CYRANO:
Poets, at last,--by dint of counterfeiting--
Take counterfeit for true--that is the charm!
This farewell letter,--it was passing sad,
I wept myself in writing it!

CHRISTIAN:
Wept? why?

CYRANO:
Oh!. . .death itself is hardly terrible,. . .
--But, ne'er to see her more! That is death's sting!
--For. . .I shall never. . .
(Christian looks at him):
We shall. . .
(Quickly):
I mean, you. . .

CHRISTIAN (snatching the letter from him):
Give me that letter!

(A rumor, far off in the camp.)

VOICE Of SENTINEL:
Who goes there? Halloo!

(Shots--voices--carriage-bells.)

CARBON:
What is it?

A SENTINEL (on the rampart):
'Tis a carriage!

(All rush to see.)

CRIES:
In the camp?
It enters!--It comes from the enemy!
--Fire!--No!--The coachman cries!--What does he say?
--'On the King's service!'

(Everyone is on the rampart, staring. The bells come nearer.)

DE GUICHE:
The King's service? How?

(All descend and draw up in line.)

CARBON:
Uncover, all!

DE GUICHE:
The King's! Draw up in line!
Let him describe his curve as it befits!

(The carriage enters at full speed covered with dust and mud. The curtains
are drawn close. Two lackeys behind. It is pulled up suddenly.)

CARBON:
Beat a salute!

(A roll of drums. The cadets uncover.)

DE GUICHE:
Lower the carriage-steps!

(Two cadets rush forward. The door opens.)

ROXANE (jumping down from the carriage):
Good-day!

(All are bowing to the ground, but at the sound of a woman's voice every head
is instantly raised.)

Scene 4.V.

The same. Roxane.

DE GUICHE:
On the King's service! You?

ROXANE:
Ay,--King Love's! What other king?

CYRANO:
Great God!

CHRISTIAN (rushing forward):
Why have you come?

ROXANE:
This siege--'tis too long!

CHRISTIAN:
But why?. . .

ROXANE:
I will tell you all!

CYRANO (who, at the sound of her voice, has stood still, rooted to the ground,
afraid to raise his eyes):
My God! dare I look at her?

DE GUICHE:
You cannot remain here!

ROXANE (merrily):
But I say yes! Who will push a drum hither for me?
(She seats herself on the drum they roll forward):
So! I thank you.
(She laughs):
My carriage was fired at
(proudly):
by the patrol! Look! would you not think 'twas made