RAGUENEAU, LISE, CYRANO, then the MUSKETEER.

[He paces up and down the shop.]

[LISE goes up to him quickly.]

[He writes. Through the glass of the door, the silhouettes of their figures move uncertainly and hesitatingly.]

CYRANO:

What time is it?

RAGUENEAU:

[bowing low] Six o'clock.

CYRANO:

[with emotion] In just one hour's time!

RAGUENEAU:

[following him] Bravo! I saw the—

CYRANO:

You saw what?

RAGUENEAU:

Your duel!

CYRANO:

Which one?

RAGUENEAU:

Last night, or course, in the Hotel Burgundy!

CYRANO:

[contemptuously] Oh, that duel …

RAGUENEAU:

[admiringly] Indeed, the duel in verse!

LISE:

He can't talk of anything else!

CYRANO:

Well, fine! Let it be!

RAGUENEAU:

[lunging with a spit as if it is a sword] “At the end of the refrain, I strike! … At the end of the refrain, I strike!” … Oh, it was wonderful! [with increasing enthusiasm] “At the end of the refrain—”

CYRANO:

What time is it now, Ragueneau?

RAGUENEAU:

[stopping short in the act of thrusting to look at the clock] Five minutes after six! … “I strike!” [He straightens himself.] Oh, to write a ballade!

LISE:

[to CYRANO, who has absently shaken hands with her as he passes the counter] What's wrong with your hand?

CYRANO:

Nothing, just a little cut.

RAGUENEAU:

Have you been in some danger?

CYRANO:

None at all.

LISE:

[shaking her finger at him] I think you're lying when you say that!

CYRANO:

Why? Did you see my nose quiver when I spoke? My goodness, it must have been a monstrous lie to be able to move it! [changing his tone] I'm waiting for someone. Please, when it comes time, leave us alone.

RAGUENEAU:

But that's impossible! My poets are coming!

LISE:

[sarcastically] Oh, indeed, for their first meal of the day!

CYRANO:

I beg you, please take them aside when I make a signal for you to do so. What time is it now?

RAGUENEAU:

Ten minutes after six.

CYRANO:

[nervously seating himself at RAGUENEAU'S table, and drawing some paper toward him] A pen!

RAGUENEAU:

[giving him the one from behind his ear] Here's a swan's quill.

A MUSKETEER:

[with fierce mustache, enters, and speaks in a very loud voice] Good day!

CYRANO:

[turning around] Who's that?

RAGUENEAU:

’Tis a friend of my wife. A great warrior—or so he says himself.

CYRANO:

[taking up the pen, and motioning RAGUENEAU away] Hush! [to himself] I'll write her a note, fold it, give it to her, and run out! [throws down the pen] Coward! But I just don't dare speak to her—not even one word! [to RAGUENEAU] What time is it?

RAGUENEAU:

A quarter after six!

CYRANO:

[striking his chest] I dare not speak a single word of all those I have in here! Writing it all down is much easier. [He takes up the pen.] I'll do it! I'll write her that love letter that is always in my thoughts! I've written it and rewritten it so many times that it lies there in my mind ready to be put down in pen and ink. All I must do is lay my soul beside this sheet of paper and copy what's written on it!