CYRANO (coming down to them).
My narrative? Well, here it is!
(They gather around him, some seated, some standing. Christian straddles a chair.)
Well, then, I was walking along so as to meet them. The moon, in the sky, looked like a big silver watch; when suddenly some zealous watch-maker, I suppose, began passing over it, with a view to making it shine, no doubt, some cloudy cotton. In consequence, the night became as dark as possible, and, mordious! I could not see further....
CHRISTIAN.
Than the end of your nose.
(Silence. Everybody rises slowly, frightened, and looking at Cyrano, whom the interruption has astounded. General expectancy.)
CYRANO.
Who is this man?