ROXANE:
What then?
CYRANO (speaking more warmly):
Buckingham suffered dumbly,—so have I,—
Adored his Queen, as loyally as I,—
Was sad, but faithful,—so am I. . .
ROXANE:
And you
Are fair as Buckingham!
CYRANO (aside—suddenly cooled):
True,—I forgot!
ROXANE:
Must I then bid thee mount to cull this flower?
CYRANO (pushing Christian toward the balcony):
Mount!
ROXANE:
This heart-breathing!. . .
CYRANO:
Mount!
ROXANE:
This brush of bee’s wing!. . .
CYRANO:
Mount!