not.
(In an alley at the back Roxane appears, dressed in black, with a widow's coif
and veil. De Guiche, imposing-looking and visibly aged, walks by her side.
They saunter slowly. Mother Marguerite rises):
'Tis time we go in; Madame Madeleine
Walks in the garden with a visitor.

SISTER MARTHA (to Sister Claire, in a low voice):
The Marshal of Grammont?

SISTER CLAIRE (looking at him):
'Tis he, I think.

SISTER MARTHA:
'Tis many months now since he came to see her.

THE SISTERS:
He is so busy!--The Court,--the camp!. . .

SISTER CLAIRE:
The world!

(They go out. De Guiche and Roxane come forward in silence, and stop close to
the embroidery frame.)

Scene 5.II.

Roxane; the Duke de Grammont, formerly Count de Guiche. Then Le Bret and
Ragueneau.

THE DUKE:
And you stay here still--ever vainly fair,
Ever in weeds?

ROXANE:
Ever.

THE DUKE:
Still faithful?

ROXANE:
Still.

THE DUKE (after a pause):
Am I forgiven?

ROXANE:
Ay, since I am here.

(Another pause.)

THE DUKE:
His was a soul, you say?. . .

ROXANE:
Ah!--when you knew him!

THE DUKE:
Ah, may be!. . .I, perchance, too little knew him!
. . .And his last letter, ever next your heart?

ROXANE:
Hung from this chain, a gentle scapulary.

THE DUKE:
And, dead, you love him still?

ROXANE:
At times,--meseems
He is but partly dead--our hearts still speak,
As if his love, still living, wrapped me round!

THE DUKE (after another pause):
Cyrano comes to see you?

ROXANE:
Often, ay.
Dear, kind old friend! We call him my 'Gazette.'
He never fails to come: beneath this tree
They place his chair, if it be fine:--I wait,
I broider;--the clock strikes;--at the last stroke
I hear,--for now I never turn to look--
Too sure to hear his cane tap down the steps;
He seats himself:--with gentle raillery
He mocks my tapestry that's never done;
He tells me all the gossip of the week. . .
(Le Bret appears on the steps):
Why, here's Le Bret!
(Le Bret descends):
How goes it with our friend?

LE BRET:
Ill!--very ill.

THE DUKE:
How?

ROXANE (to the Duke):
He exaggerates!

LE BRET:
All that I prophesied: desertion, want!. . .
His letters now make him fresh enemies!--
Attacking the sham nobles, sham devout,
Sham brave,--the thieving authors,--all the world!

ROXANE:
Ah! but his sword still holds them all in check;
None get the bet