CYRANO (turning his chair toward the boxes gallantly):
Fairest ones,
Radiate, bloom, hold to our lips the cup
Of dreams intoxicating, Hebe-like!
Or, when death strikes, charm death with your sweet smiles;
Inspire our verse, but—criticise it not!
BELLEROSE:
We must give back the entrance fees!
CYRANO (turning his chair toward the stage):
Bellerose,
You make the first intelligent remark!
Would I rend Thespis’ sacred mantle? Nay!
(He rises and throws a bag on the stage):
Catch then the purse I throw, and hold your peace!
THE HOUSE (dazzled):
Ah! Oh!
JODELET (catching the purse dexterously and weighing it):
At this price, you’ve authority
To come each night, and stop ‘Clorise,’ Sir!
THE PIT:
Ho!. . .Ho! Ho!. . .
JODELET:
E’en if you chase us in a pack!. . .
BELLEROSE:
Clear out the hall!. . .
JODELET:
Get you all gone at once!
(The people begin to go out, while Cyrano looks on with satisfaction. But the crowd soon stop on hearing the following scene, and remain where they are. The women, who, with their mantles on, are already standing up in the boxes, stop to listen, and finally reseat themselves.)