DE GUICHE (putting a hand to his face):
What?
CYRANO (feigning great alarm):
Am I in Africa? A native you?
DE GUICHE (who has remembered his mask):
This mask of mine. . .
CYRANO (pretending to be reassured):
In Venice? ha!—or Rome?
DE GUICHE (trying to pass):
A lady waits. .
CYRANO (quite reassured):
Oh-ho! I am in Paris!
DE GUICHE (smiling in spite of himself):
The fool is comical!
CYRANO:
You laugh?
DE GUICHE:
I laugh,
But would get by!
CYRANO (beaming with joy):
I have shot back to Paris!
(Quite at ease, laughing, dusting himself, bowing):
Come—pardon me—by the last water-spout,
Covered with ether,—accident of travel!
My eyes still full of star-dust, and my spurs
Encumbered by the planets’ filaments!
(Picking something off his sleeve):
Ha! on my doublet?—ah, a comet’s hair!. . .
(He puffs as if to blow it away.)