Cyrano, Roxane, the duenna.
CYRANO
Ah! if I see but the faint glimmer of hope, then I draw out my letter!
(Roxane, masked, followed by the duenna, appears at the glass pane of the
door. He opens quickly):
Enter!. . .
(Walking up to the duenna):
Two words with you, Duenna.
THE DUENNA
Four, Sir, an it like you.
CYRANO
Are you fond of sweet things?
THE DUENNA
Ay, I could eat myself sick on them!
CYRANO
(catching up some of the paper bags from the counter) Good. See you these two sonnets of Monsieur Beuserade. . .
CYRANO
. . .Which I fill for you with cream cakes!
THE DUENNA
(changing her expression) Ha.
CYRANO
What say you to the cake they call a little puff?
THE DUENNA
If made with cream, Sir, I love them passing well.
CYRANO
Here I plunge six for your eating into the bosom of a poem by Saint Amant!
And in these verses of Chapelain I glide a lighter morsel. Stay, love you hot
cakes?
THE DUENNA
Ay, to the core of my heart!
CYRANO
(filling her arms with the bags) Pleasure me then; go eat them all in the street.
CYRANO
(pushing her out) And come not back till the very last crumb be eaten!
He shuts the door, comes down toward Roxane, and, uncovering, stands at a respectful distance from her.