Christian.
I wept myself in writing it!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.]
—For… I shall never…We shall…
[Quickly.]
—For… I shall never… We shall…I mean, you…
Christian
[snatching the letter from him].
Give me that letter!
[A rumour, far off in the camp.]
Voice of Sentinel.
Give me that letter!Who goes there? Hallo!
[Shots—voices—carriage-bells.]
Carbon.
What is it!
A Sentinel
[on the rampart].
What is it!'Tis a carriage!
[All rush to see.]
Cries.
What is it! ’Tis a carriage!In the camp?
It enters!—It comes from the enemy!
—Fire!—No!—The coachman cries!—What does he say?
—'On the King's service!'
[Every one is on the rampart, staring. The bells come nearer.]
