RAGUENEAU, LISE, the MUSKETEER, CYRANO at the little table writing. The POETS, dressed in black, their stockings sagging and covered with mud.

[He goes on writing.]

[They go upstage, still eating.]

[He bows to the MUSKETEER and goes to the doorway to watch, after looking at the clock.]

[He goes quickly farther away, and LISE follows him.]

They all go out behind RAGUENEAU, after sweeping all the cakes off the trays.]

LISE:

[entering, to RAGUENEAU] Here they come, your mud-spattered friends!

FIRST POET:

[entering, to RAGUENEAU] Brother in art!

SECOND POET:

[to RAGUENEAU, shaking his hand] Dear brother!

THIRD POET:

High soaring eagle among pastry-cooks! [He sniffs.] My, it smells good here in your nest!

FOURTH POET:

Phoebus of the kitchen!

FIFTH POET:

Apollo of cooks!

RAGUENEAU:

[whom they surround and embrace] Ah! How quickly at ease I find myself among these friends!

FIRST POET:

We were delayed by the mob; they're all crowded around the Porte de Nesle!

SECOND POET:

Eight bandits lay dead in the street there—all slit open with sword-gashes!

CYRANO:

[raising his head a minute] Eight? I thought it was seven.

RAGUENEAU:

[to CYRANO] Do you know who the hero of that fight might be?

CYRANO:

[carelessly] Not I.

LISE:

[to the MUSKETEER] And you? Do you know?

MUSKETEER:

[twirling his mustache] Maybe!

CYRANO:

[still writing, he is heard murmuring a word from time to time.] “I love you!”

FIRST POET:

’Twas one man, they say. They all swear to it—just one man, who single-handedly beat the entire band of assassins!

SECOND POET:

’Twas a strange sight! Pikes and cudgels were strewn all over the ground!

CYRANO:

[writing] “Your eyes …”

THIRD POET:

They were picking up hats seven blocks away!

FIRST POET:

My God! The man must have been ferocious!

CYRANO:

[still writing] “Your lips …”

FIRST POET:

He must have been a fearsome giant!

CYRANO:

“… and when I see you come, I faint from fear.”

SECOND POET:

[filching a cake] What have you written lately, Ragueneau?

CYRANO:

[still writing] “I worship you …” [He stops, just as he is about to sign, and gets up, slipping the letter into his jacket.] No need to sign, since I'll give it to her myself.

RAGUENEAU:

[to SECOND POET] I have put a recipe into verse.

THIRD POET:

[seating himself by a plate of cream-puffs] Go to it! Let's hear those verses!

FOURTH POET:

[looking at a cake which he has taken] Oh my, this cake is lopsided! I'll fix it! [He takes a bite off the top.]

FIRST POET:

[taking a cake] Ah, how this gingerbread woos the starving poet with its almond eyes!

SECOND POET:

[to RAGUENEAU] Go ahead, we're listening.

THIRD POET:

[gently squeezing a cream-puff] How it laughs! Until its very cream runs over!

SECOND POET:

[biting a bit off the lyre-shaped pastry] This is the first time in my life I've gotten any true nourishment from the lyre!

RAGUENEAU:

[who has cleared his throat, settled his cap, and struck a pose, in preparation to recite his poem] A recipe in verse!

SECOND POET:

[to first, nudging him] Is this your breakfast?

FIRST POET:

[to second] Yes, and you are taking your dinner, it seems.

RAGUENEAU:

How almond tartlets are made.
Beat your eggs up, light and quick;
Froth them thick;
Mingle with them while you beat
Juice of lemon, essence fine;
Then combine
The burst milk of almonds sweet.
Circle with a custard paste
The slim waist
Of your tartlet-molds; the top
With a skillful finger print,
Nick and dint,
Round the edge, then, drop by drop,
Pour some cream upon each one—
Almost done!
In the oven place each mold.
Reappearing, softly browned,
The renowned
Almond tartlets you behold!

THE POETS:

[with mouths crammed full] Exquisite! Delicious!

A POET:

[choking] Humph!

CYRANO:

[who has been watching, goes toward RAGUENEAU] Don't you see how they stuff themselves while you recite your poetry?

RAGUENEAU:

[in a low voice, smiling] Oh, yes! I see it well enough, but I won't let them know that I see it. I wouldn't want to embarrass them, you know. Plus, I gain a double pleasure when I recite my poems to them, for I give those poor starving fellows the freedom to eat, even while I gratify my own dearest weakness!

CYRANO:

[clapping him on the shoulder] Friend, I like you! [RAGUENEAU goes after his friends. CyranO follows him with his eyes, and then speaks rather sharply.] Lise! Is that musketeer making passes at you?

LISE:

[offended] One proud glance of my eye can conquer any man that should dare venture to attack my virtue!

CYRANO:

Pooh! Conquering eyes, I think, are often conquered eyes.

LISE:

[choking with anger] But—

CYRANO:

[bluntly] I like Ragueneau. So mark my words, Lise—I will not permit you to make a laughing-stock of him by any—

LISE:

But—

CYRANO:

[who has raised his voice so as to be heard by the MUSKETEER] A word to the wise …

LISE:

[to the MUSKETEER, who has merely bowed in answer to CYRANO'S bow] What's with you? Have you no courage? You didn't even make fun of his nose!

MUSKETEER:

His nose? Oh yes, his nose.

CYRANO:

[from the doorway, signing to RAGUENEAU to take the poets away] Psst!

RAGUENEAU:

[showing them the door on the right] We shall have more privacy in here.

CYRANO:

[impatiently] Psst! Psst!

RAGUENEAU:

[drawing them farther away] We can better read our poetry over here.

FIRST POET:

[despairingly, with his mouth full] What! Must we leave the cakes?

SECOND POET:

Never! Let's take them with us!