CYRANO: I order silence, all! And challenge the whole pit collectively!-- I write your names!--Approach, young heroes, here! Each in his turn! I cry the numbers out!-- Now which of you will come to ope the lists? You, Sir? No! You? No! The first duellist Shall be dispatched by me with honors due! Let all who long for death hold up their hands! (A silence): Modest? You fear to see my naked blade? Not one name?--Not one hand?--Good, I proceed! (Turning toward the stage, where Montfleury waits in an agony): The theater's too full, congested,--I Would clear it out. . .If not. . . (Puts his hand on his sword): The knife must act! MONTFLEURY: I. . . CYRANO (leaves his chair, and settles himself in the middle of the circle which has formed): I will clap my hands thrice, thus--full moon! At the third clap, eclipse yourself! THE PIT (amused): Ah! CYRANO (clapping his hands): One! MONTFLEURY: I. . . A VOICE (in the boxes): Stay! THE PIT: He stays. . .he goes. . .he stays. . . MONTFLEURY: I think. . .Gentlemen,. . . CYRANO: Two! MONTFLEURY: I think 'twere wisest. . . CYRANO: Three! (Montfleury disappears as through a trap. Tempest of laughs, whistling cries, etc.) THE WHOLE HOUSE: Coward. . .come back! CYRANO (delighted, sits back in his chair, arms crossed): Come back an if you dare! A BURGHER: Call for the orator! (Bellerose comes forward and bows.) THE BOXES: Ah! here's Bellerose! BELLEROSE (elegantly): My noble lords. . . THE PIT: No! no! Jodelet! JODELET (advancing, speaking through his nose): Calves! THE PIT: Ah! bravo! good! go on! JODELET: No bravos, Sirs! The fat tragedian whom you all love Felt. . . THE PIT: Coward! JODELET: . . .was obliged to go. THE PIT: Come back! SOME: No! OTHERS: Yes! A YOUNG MAN (to Cyrano): But pray, Sir, for what reason, say, Hate you Montfleury? CYRANO (graciously, still seated): Youthful gander, know I have two reasons--either will suffice. Primo. An actor villainous! who mouths, And heaves up like a bucket from a well The verses that should, bird-like, fly! Secundo-- That is my secret. . . THE OLD BURGHER (behind him): Shameful! You deprive us Of the 'Clorise!' I must insist. . . CYRANO (turning his chair toward the burgher, respectfully): Old mule! The verses of old Baro are not worth A doit! I'm glad to interrupt. . . THE PRECIEUSES (in the boxes): Our Baro!-- My dear! How dares he venture!. . . 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!