A MUSKETEER (advancing to Cyrano with outstretched hand):
Sir, permit;
Naught could be finer—I’m a judge I think;
I stamped, i’ faith!—to show my admiration!
(He goes away.)
CYRANO (to Cuigy):
Who is that gentleman?
CUIGY:
Why—D’Artagnan!
LE BRET (to Cyrano, taking his arm):
A word with you!. . .
CYRANO:
Wait; let the rabble go!. . .
(To Bellerose):
May I stay?
BELLEROSE (respectfully):
Without doubt!
(Cries are heard outside.)
JODELET (who has looked out):
They hoot Montfleury!
BELLEROSE (solemnly):
Sic transit!. . .
(To the porters):
Sweep—close all, but leave the lights.
We sup, but later on we must return,
For a rehearsal of to-morrow’s farce.