LISE (to the musketeer):
And you? Know you?
THE MUSKETEER (twirling his mustache):
Maybe!
CYRANO (writing a little way off:—he is heard murmuring a word from time to time):
‘I love thee!’
FIRST POET:
’Twas one man, say they all, ay, swear to it, one man who, single-handed, put the whole band to the rout!
SECOND POET:
’Twas a strange sight!—pikes and cudgels strewed thick upon the ground.
CYRANO (writing):
. . .’Thine eyes’. . .
THIRD POET:
And they were picking up hats all the way to the Quai d’Orfevres!
FIRST POET:
Sapristi! but he must have been a ferocious. . .
CYRANO (same play):
. . .’Thy lips’. . .
FIRST POET:
’Twas a parlous fearsome giant that was the author of such exploits!