DE GUICHE: On the King's service! You? ROXANE: Ay,--King Love's! What other king? CYRANO: Great God! CHRISTIAN (rushing forward): Why have you come? ROXANE: This siege--'tis too long! CHRISTIAN: But why?. . . ROXANE: I will tell you all! CYRANO (who, at the sound of her voice, has stood still, rooted to the ground, afraid to raise his eyes): My God! dare I look at her? DE GUICHE: You cannot remain here! ROXANE (merrily): But I say yes! Who will push a drum hither for me? (She seats herself on the drum they roll forward): So! I thank you. (She laughs): My carriage was fired at (proudly): by the patrol! Look! would you not think 'twas made of a pumpkin, like Cinderella's chariot in the tale,--and the footmen out of rats? (Sending a kiss with her lips to Christian): Good-morrow! (Examining them all): You look not merry, any of you! Ah! know you that 'tis a long road to get to Arras? (Seeing Cyrano): Cousin, delighted! CYRANO (coming up to her): But how, in Heaven's name?. . . ROXANE: How found I the way to the army? It was simple enough, for I had but to pass on and on, as far as I saw the country laid waste. Ah, what horrors were there! Had I not seen, then I could never have believed it! Well, gentlemen, if such be the service of your King, I would fainer serve mine! CYRANO: But 'tis sheer madness! Where in the fiend's name did you get through? ROXANE: Where? Through the Spanish lines. FIRST CADET: --For subtle craft, give me a woman! DE GUICHE: But how did you pass through their lines? LE BRET: Faith! that must have been a hard matter!. . . ROXANE: None too hard. I but drove quietly forward in my carriage, and when some hidalgo of haughty mien would have stayed me, lo! I showed at the window my sweetest smile, and these Senors being (with no disrespect to you) the most gallant gentlemen in the world,--I passed on! CARBON: True, that smile is a passport! But you must have been asked frequently to give an account of where you were going, Madame? ROXANE: Yes, frequently. Then I would answer, 'I go to see my lover.' At that word the very fiercest Spaniard of them all would gravely shut the carriage-door, and, with a gesture that a king might envy, make signal to his men to lower the muskets leveled at me;--then, with melancholy but withal very graceful dignity--his beaver held to the wind that the plumes might flutter bravely, he would bow low, saying to me, 'Pass on, Senorita!' CHRISTIAN: But, Roxane. . . ROXANE: Forgive me that I said, 'my lover!' But bethink you, had I said 'my husband,' not one of them had let me pass! CHRISTIAN: But. . . ROXANE: What ails you? DE GUICHE: You must leave this place! ROXANE: I? CYRANO: And that instantly! LE BRET: No time to lose. CHRISTIAN: Indeed, you must. ROXANE: But wherefore must I? CHRISTIAN (embarrassed): 'Tis that. . . CYRANO (the same): --In three quarters of an hour. . .