ROXANE.
No, all his words are choice; I can tell by seeing him.
CYRANO.
Of course, all words are choice when they come through a mustache that is well curled.—But suppose he were a dunce!....
ROXANE (striking the floor with her foot, impatiently).
Well, it would kill me! There!
CYRANO (after a pause).
And it is to tell me this that you asked me to meet you here? I fail to see the necessity of the appointment, Madam.
ROXANE.