GUICHE.
It is I!
(Laughing stops short.)
I had hired them—a nobleman is above doing these things himself—to chastise—a drunkard rimester.
(General embarrassment.)
THE CADET (aside to Cyrano, pointing to the hats).
What shall we do with them? They are greasy enough to make a stew.
CYRANO (taking the sword on which the hats are strung, and allowing them, as he salutes, to slip off at the feet of Guiche).
You may desire, Sir, to return them to your friends.