CYRANO, ROXANE, the DUENNA.

[He shuts the door, comes down toward ROXANE, and stands at a respectful distance from her with his hat in his hand.]

CYRANO:

Ah! If I see even the faintest glimmer of hope, I'll give her my letter! [ROXANE, masked, followed by the DUENNA, appears at the glass pane of the door. He opens it quickly.] Come in! [aside to the DUENNA] May I have two words with you?

DUENNA:

You may have as many as you like, Sir!

CYRANO:

Are you fond of sweet things?

DUENNA:

Oh, yes, I could eat myself sick with them!

CYRANO:

[grabbing some of the paper bags from the counter] Good. Take these two sonnets written by Monsieur Benserade—

DUENNA:

[slightly disappointed] Oh …

CYRANO:

Which I will fill for you with cream cakes!

DUENNA:

[changing her expression] Oh!

CYRANO:

I'll wrap up six of them for you in the bosom of a poem by Saint Amant! And here in these verses of Chapelain I'll drop a piece of sponge cake. Oh, and do you like warm pies?

DUENNA:

Oh, yes, to the core of my heart!

CYRANO:

[filling her arms with the bags] Now, please go and enjoy them all out in the street.

DUENNA:

But—