CYRANO.
You were not a sorry sight.
ROXANE.
How often, romping, you would get a hurt!
Then, motherly, I'd say, in sternest voice:
"Another frolic and another scratch!"....
(She stops astonished.)
The same to-day! What's this?
(Cyrano tries to withdraw his hand.)
No, let me see!
You're still a boy, it seems.—Say when and how!
CYRANO.
At play just now, around the Porte de Nesle.