ROXANE:
Meseems that your last words have learned to climb.
CYRANO:
With practice such gymnastic grows less hard!
ROXANE:
In truth, I seem to speak from distant heights!
CYRANO:
True, far above; at such a height ’twere death
If a hard word from you fell on my heart.
ROXANE (moving):
I will come down. . .
CYRANO (hastily):
No!
ROXANE (showing him the bench under the balcony):
Mount then on the bench!
CYRANO (starting back alarmed):
No!
ROXANE:
How, you will not?
CYRANO (more and more moved):
Stay awhile! ’Tis sweet,. . .
The rare occasion, when our hearts can speak
Our selves unseen, unseeing!