Page:Cyrano de Bergerac.djvu/95

…But strike me dead if I dare to speak to her,… ay, even one single word! [To Ragueneau.] What time is it?

Ragueneau.

A quarter after six!…

Cyrano

[striking his breast].

Ay—a single word of all those here! here! But writing, 'tis easier done… [He takes up the pen.] Go to, I will write it, that love-letter! Oh! I have writ it and rewrit it in my own mind so oft that it lies there ready for pen and ink; and if I lay but my soul by my letter-sheet, 'tis nought to do but to copy from it.

[He writes. Through the glass of the door the silhouettes of thin figures move uncertainly and hesitatingly.]

SCENE IV

Ragueneau, Lise, the Musketeer. Cyrano at the little table writing. The Poets, dressed in black, their stockings ungartered, and covered with mud.

Lise

[entering, to Ragueneau].

Here they come, your mud-bespattered friends!

First Poet

[entering, to Ragueneau].

Brother in art!…