CYRANO (_opening his eyes and speaking somewhat indistinctly_). What is it?.... Who?.... When?.... (_He sees Roxane leaning over him, and, quickly securing his hat on his head, backs up into his armchair._) No! no! I assure you, it is nothing. I am quite myself again. ROXANE. But allow me.... CYRANO. It is the old wound I received at Arras.... that.... sometimes.... you know.... ROXANE. Dearest friend! CYRANO. But, it is nothing serious. Soon over. (_makes an effort to smile_). Quite well again now. ROXANE (_standing near him_). We each of us have our wound: I, too, have one, ever smarting; I feel it here, old though it be, (_placing her hand on her breast_) right here, beneath the time-worn letter on which can still be seen the trace of tears and blood! (_Dusk begins to come on._) CYRANO. His letter!.... Did you not say that some day, perhaps, you would allow me to read it? ROXANE. What! you wish?.... his letter?.... CYRANO. Yes.... I wish.... to-day.... ROXANE. (_handing him the sachet she carries suspended to her neck_). Here it is! CYRANO (_taking it_). I may open? ROXANE. You may open and read!.... (_She returns to her work, folds it up and arranges her worsteds._) CYRANO (_reading_). "Roxane, farewell! The time...." ROXANE (_stopping, astonished_). You read aloud? CYRANO (_reading_). "Roxane, farewell! The time of death has come; This eve, I think, belovèd, is my last. My soul's still rich in unexpressèd love, And I must die! My dazzled eyes no more, My eyes for which you were...." ROXANE. Why! how you read His lines!.... CYRANO (_continuing_). ".... for which you were a thrilling feast, No more will drink your ev'ry motion, dear. There's one that I recall, so truly yours, To smooth your hair, and I would cry aloud...." ROXANE. How can you know?.... (_Darkness comes on by degrees._) CYRANO (_continuing_). "....And now I cry, indeed: Farewell!...." ROXANE. You read as if.... CYRANO (_continuing_). ".... My dearest dear, My treasure...."