CYRANO:
Hark you, Le Bret! I soon shall reach the moon.
To-night, alone, with no projectile’s aid!. . .
LE BRET:
What are you saying?
CYRANO:
I tell you, it is there,
There, that they send me for my Paradise,
There I shall find at last the souls I love,
In exile,—Galileo—Socrates!
LE BRET (rebelliously):
No, no! It is too clumsy, too unjust!
So great a heart! So great a poet! Die
Like this? what, die. . .?
CYRANO:
Hark to Le Bret, who scolds!
LE BRET (weeping):
Dear friend. . .
CYRANO (starting up, his eyes wild):
What ho! Cadets of Gascony!
The elemental mass—ah yes! The hic. . .
LE BRET:
His science still—he raves!
CYRANO:
Copernicus
Said. . .
ROXANE:
Oh!