RAGUENEAU.
A quarter past six!....
CYRANO (striking his breast).
But I have plenty of words here, and by writing....
(Takes up the pen.)
So be it then! I'll write.—This letter fraught
With love, I've thought it out a hundred times;
It's ready, and, to close it, I have but
To read my soul, and copy what I read.
(He writes. Behind the glazed door, a movement of lean and hesitating forms.)
SCENE IV.
RAGUENEAU, LISE, THE MUSKETEER, CYRANO, by the table, writing, THE POETS, clad in black, bedraggled.
LISE (entering, to Ragueneau).