CYRANO:
Said she so?
CHRISTIAN:
Ay! in those words!
CYRANO:
I’m glad she told you that!
But pooh!—believe it not! I am well pleased
She thought to tell you. Take it not for truth.
Never grow ugly:—she’d reproach me then!
CHRISTIAN:
That I intend discovering!
CYRANO:
No! I beg!
CHRISTIAN:
Ay! she shall choose between us!—Tell her all!
CYRANO:
No! no! I will not have it! Spare me this!
CHRISTIAN:
Because my face is haply fair, shall I
Destroy your happiness? ’Twere too unjust!
CYRANO:
And I,—because by Nature’s freak I have
The gift to say—all that perchance you feel.
Shall I be fatal to your happiness?
CHRISTIAN:
Tell all!