CYRANO:
I’ll recount.
DE GUICHE:
This wild eccentric becomes interesting!
CYRANO (making a noise like the waves, with weird gestures):
Houuh! Houuh!
DE GUICHE:
Well.
CYRANO:
You have guessed?
DE GUICHE:
Not I!
CYRANO:
The tide!
I’ th’ witching hour when the moon woos the wave,
I laid me, fresh from a sea-bath, on the shore—
And, failing not to put head foremost—for
The hair holds the sea-water in its mesh—
I rose in air, straight! straight! like angel’s flight,
And mounted, mounted, gently, effortless,. . .
When lo! a sudden shock! Then. . .
DE GUICHE (overcome by curiosity, sitting down on the bench):
Then?
CYRANO:
Oh! then. . .
(Suddenly returning to his natural voice):
The quarter’s gone—I’ll hinder you no more:
The marriage-vows are made.
DE GUICHE (springing up):
What? Am I mad?
That voice?
(The house-door opens. Lackeys appear carrying lighted candelabra. Light. Cyrano gracefully uncovers):
That nose—Cyrano?