CYRANO:
’Twas he!
ROXANE:
You loved me!
CYRANO:
No!
ROXANE:
See! how you falter now!
CYRANO:
No, my sweet love, I never loved you!
ROXANE:
Ah!
Things dead, long dead, see! how they rise again!
—Why, why keep silence all these fourteen years,
When, on this letter, which he never wrote,
The tears were your tears?
CYRANO (holding out the letter to her):
The bloodstains were his.
ROXANE:
Why, then, that noble silence,—kept so long—
Broken to-day for the first time—why?
CYRANO:
Why?. . .
(Le Bret and Ragueneau enter running.)