Cyrano
[imitating Christian - in a whisper].
Night has come. . .
In the dusk they grope their way to find your ear.
Roxane.
But my words find no such impediment.
Cyrano.
They find their way at once ? Small wonder that!
For 'tis within my heart they find their home ;
Bethink how large my heart, how small your ear !
And, from fair heights descending, words fall fast,
But mine must mount, Madame, and that takes time !
Roxane.
Meseems that your last words have learned to climb.
Cyrano.
With practice such gymnastic grows less hard !
Roxane.
In truth, I seem to speak from distant heights !
Cyrano.
True, far above ; at such a height 'twere death
If a hard word from you fell on my heart.
Roxane
[moving].
I will come down. . . .
Cyrano
[hastily].
No !
