My wig! (_Shaking his fist at the pages._) Scoundrels! (_All the audience laughs. Sudden silence._) LE BRET (_astonished_). What is it? TRADESMAN (_near Le Bret_). The Cardinal.... there.... in a screened box. A PAGE. Good-bye, fun! (_Raps on the stage. Order in the audience. Wait._) A MARQUIS (_behind the curtain, during silence_). Snuff that candle! OTHER MARQUIS (_passing through the split in the curtain_). A chair, please! (_A chair is passed, from hand to hand, over the heads of the audience. The marquis takes it and disappears behind the curtain, after sending a few kisses up into the boxes._) (_Three raps on the stage. Curtain is drawn aside. Tableau. Marquises seated on either side of the stage, in impertinent attitudes. Drop represents a bluish pastoral scene. Low music by the violins._) LE BRET (_aside to Ragueneau_). Montfleury comes in at once, does he not? RAGUENEAU (_aside to Le Bret_). Yes. Monsieur de Cyrano is not here, and I have lost my bet. LE BRET. I am glad of it. (_A bag-pipe air, and Montfleury appears, a very powerful man in a poetic shepherd's dress: his hat ornamented with roses and his bag-pipe with ribbons._) THE PIT (_applauding_). Bravo, Montfleury! Montfleury! MONTFLEURY (_after bowing, begins his part of Phédon_). "Oh! happy he who far from courts, in solitude,[7] Self-banished, has cast off the chains of servitude, And who, when zephyr sighs and rustles through the leaves...." A VOICE IN THE PIT. You rascal, did I not suspend you for a month? (_Astonishment. Everybody eager to see who spoke. Murmurs._) SEVERAL OF THE AUDIENCE. What? What is it? Who? Why? (_People in the boxes rise, to see better._) CUIGY. It's he! LE BRET (_frightened_). Cyrano! THE VOICE IN THE PIT. King of clowns, get off the stage! THE HOUSE. Oh! MONTFLEURY. But.... THE VOICE IN THE PIT. You recalcitrate?[8] VOICES IN THE PIT (_and in the boxes_). Silence! Enough! Go on, Montfleury! Montfleury, have no fear!.... MONTFLEURY (_in shaking tone_). "Oh! happy he who far from courts, in sol...." THE VOICE IN THE PIT (_more threatening_). Well, you king of knaves, shall I be forced to plant a grove of these upon your shoulders? (_A stick is seen to rise in the pit._) MONTFLEURY (_in still weaker tones_). "Oh! happy he...." (_The stick is shaken threateningly._) THE VOICE IN THE PIT.