CHRISTIAN: Good--I fly! Ah, the scoundrels! A hundred men 'gainst one! (Looking lovingly at Roxane): Ah, to leave her!. . . (looking with rage at Valvert): and him!. . .But save Lignière I must! (He hurries out. De Guiche, the viscount, the marquises, have all disappeared behind the curtain to take their places on the benches placed on the stage. The pit is quite full; the galleries and boxes are also crowded.) THE AUDIENCE: Begin! A BURGHER (whose wig is drawn up on the end of a string by a page in the upper gallery): My wig! CRIES OF DELIGHT: He is bald! Bravo, pages--ha! ha! ha!. . . THE BURGHER (furious, shaking his fist): Young villain! LAUGHTER AND CRIES (beginning very loud, and dying gradually away): Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! (Total silence.) LE BRET (astonished): What means this sudden silence?. . . (A spectator says something to him in a low voice): Is't true? THE SPECTATOR: I have just heard it on good authority. MURMURS (spreading through the hall): Hush! Is it he? No! Ay, I say! In the box with the bars in front! The Cardinal! The Cardinal! The Cardinal! A PAGE: The devil! We shall have to behave ourselves. . . (A knock is heard upon the stage. Every one is motionless. A pause.) THE VOICE OF A MARQUIS (in the silence, behind the curtain): Snuff that candle! ANOTHER MARQUIS (putting his head through the opening in the curtain): A chair! (A chair is passed from hand to hand, over the heads of the spectators. The marquis takes it and disappears, after blowing some kisses to the boxes.) A SPECTATOR: Silence! (Three knocks are heard on the stage. The curtain opens in the centre Tableau. The marquises in insolent attitudes seated on each side of the stage. The scene represents a pastoral landscape. Four little lusters light the stage; the violins play softly.) LE BRET (in a low voice to Ragueneau): Montfleury comes on the scene? RAGUENEAU (also in a low voice): Ay, 'tis he who begins. LE BRET: Cyrano is not here. RAGUENEAU: I have lost my wager. LE BRET: 'Tis all the better! (An air on the drone-pipes is heard, and Montfleury enters, enormously stout, in an Arcadian shepherd's dress, a hat wreathed with roses drooping over one ear, blowing into a ribboned drone pipe.) THE PIT (applauding): Bravo, Montfleury! Montfleury! MONTFLEURY (after bowing low, begins the part of Phedon): 'Heureux qui loin des cours, dans un lieu solitaire, Se prescrit a soi-meme un exil volontaire, Et qui, lorsque Zephire a souffle sur les bois. . .' A VOICE (from the middle of the pit): Villain! Did I not forbid you to show your face here for month? (General stupor. Every one turns round. Murmurs.) DIFFERENT VOICES: Hey?--What?--What is't?. . . (The people stand up in the boxes to look.) CUIGY: 'Tis he! LE BRET (terrified): Cyrano! THE VOICE: King of clowns! Leave the stage this instant! ALL THE AUDIENCE (indignantly): Oh! MONTFLEURY: But. . .