CARBON (sighing): The reveille! (The cadets move and stretch themselves): Nourishing sleep! Thou art at an end!. . .I know well what will be their first cry! A CADET (sitting up): I am so hungry! ANOTHER: I am dying of hunger. TOGETHER: Oh! CARBON: Up with you! THIRD CADET: --Cannot move a limb. FOURTH CADET: Nor can I. THE FIRST (looking at himself in a bit of armor): My tongue is yellow. The air at this season of the year is hard to digest. ANOTHER: My coronet for a bit of Chester! ANOTHER: If none can furnish to my gaster wherewith to make a pint of chyle, I shall retire to my tent--like Achilles! ANOTHER: Oh! something! were it but a crust! CARBON (going to the tent and calling softly): Cyrano! ALL THE CADETS: We are dying! CARBON (continuing to speak under his breath at the opening of the tent): Come to my aid, you, who have the art of quick retort and gay jest. Come, hearten them up. SECOND CADET (rushing toward another who is munching something): What are you crunching there? FIRST CADET: Cannon-wads soaked in axle-grease! 'Tis poor hunting round about Arras! A CADET (entering): I have been after game. ANOTHER (following him): And I after fish. ALL (rushing to the two newcomers): Well! what have you brought?--a pheasant?--a carp?--Come, show us quick! THE ANGLER: A gudgeon! THE SPORTSMAN: A sparrow! ALL TOGETHER (beside themselves): 'Tis more than can be borne! We will mutiny! CARBON: Cyrano! Come to my help. (The daylight has now come.) Scene 4.III. The SAME. Cyrano. CYRANO (appearing from the tent, very calm, with a pen stuck behind his ear and a book in his hand): What is wrong? (Silence. To the first cadet): Why drag you your legs so sorrowfully? THE CADET: I have something in my heels which weighs them down. CYRANO: And what may that be? THE CADET: My stomach! CYRANO: So have I, 'faith! THE CADET: It must be in your way? CYRANO: Nay, I am all the taller. A THIRD: My stomach's hollow. CYRANO: 'Faith, 'twill make a fine drum to sound the assault. ANOTHER: I have a ringing in my ears. CYRANO: No, no, 'tis false; a hungry stomach has no ears. ANOTHER: Oh, to eat something--something oily! CYRANO (pulling off the cadet's helmet and holding it out to him): Behold your salad! ANOTHER: What, in God's name, can we devour? CYRANO (throwing him the book which he is carrying): The 'Iliad'. ANOTHER: The first minister in Paris has his four meals a day! CYRANO: 'Twere courteous an he sent you a few partridges! THE SAME: And why not? with wine, too! CYRANO: A little Burgundy. Richelieu, s'il vous plait! THE SAME: He could send it by one of his friars. CYRANO: Ay! by His Eminence Joseph himself. ANOTHER: I am as ravenous as an ogre! CYRANO: Eat your patience, then. THE FIRST CADET (shrugging his shoulders): Always your pointed word!