(In an instant all has been pushed into the tents, or hidden under doublets, cloaks, and beavers. De Guiche enters hurriedly—stops suddenly, sniffing the air. Silence.)
[Scene 4.VII.]
The same. De Guiche.
DE GUICHE:
It smells good here.
A CADET (humming):
Lo! Lo-lo!
DE GUICHE (looking at him):
What is the matter?—You are very red.
THE CADET:
The matter?—Nothing!—’Tis my blood—boiling at the thought of the coming
battle!
ANOTHER:
Poum, poum—poum. . .
DE GUICHE (turning round):
What’s that?
THE CADET (slightly drunk):
Nothing!. . .’Tis a song!—a little. . .