You may desire, Sir, to return them to your friends. GUICHE (_rising and in sharp tones_). My chair, immediately! (_to Cyrano, angrily_). As to you, Sir!.... A VOICE (_in the street_). The chair of his lordship Count de Guiche. GUICHE (_who has conquered his feelings and now smiles_). No doubt you've read Don Quixote? CYRANO. Yes, and, when I hear the name of this enthusiast, I doff my hat. GUICHE. Then kindly meditate The windmill chapter.... CYRANO (_bowing_). Yes,--I know--thirteenth. GUICHE. When windmills are attacked it happens oft.... CYRANO. Have I attacked some noble weather-vane? GUICHE. That, if their mighty arms revolve, a man Is dashed to earth!.... CYRANO. Or lifted to the stars! (_Exit Guiche, who enters his chair. His friends, whispering. Crowd withdraws._) _SCENE VIII._ CYRANO, LE BRET, THE CADETS, _who have taken seats at the tables, and are eating and drinking_. CYRANO (_bowing out in an affectedly polite way those who are leaving without taking any further notice of him_). Gentlemen--delighted--Delighted--gentlemen-- LE BRET (_lifting his arms in despair_). A pretty mess you've made of it! CYRANO. Oh! of course! As usual, you must growl! LE BRET. Come, now, you must admit that this constant assassination--that is the word--of every passing opportunity is, to say the least, a gross exaggeration. CYRANO. Well, yes, I do exaggerate. There! LE BRET (_triumphant_). You see! CYRANO. But I do so as a matter of principle, for the sake of example. In my opinion, such exaggeration is good. LE BRET. Suppose you set aside, a while, your soul Heroic and success.... CYRANO.