Cyrano de Bergerac. Edmond Rostand

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gets up staggering, and raises his glass, ready to sing.)

      CHRISTIAN:

       No. Good-night.

      LIGNIERE:

       Where go you?

      CHRISTIAN:

       To Monsieur de Valvert!

      LIGNIERE:

       Have a care! It is he who will kill you

       (showing him Roxane by a look):

       Stay where you are--she is looking at you.

      CHRISTIAN:

       It is true!

      (He stands looking at her. The group of pickpockets seeing him thus, head in air and open-mouthed, draw near to him.)

      LIGNIERE:

       'Tis I who am going. I am athirst! And they expect me--in the taverns!

      (He goes out, reeling.)

      LE BRET (who has been all round the hall, coming back to Ragueneau reassured):

       No sign of Cyrano.

      RAGUENEAU (incredulously):

       All the same …

      LE BRET:

       A hope is left to me--that he has not seen the playbill!

      THE AUDIENCE:

       Begin, begin!

       Table of Contents

      The same, all but Ligniere. De Guiche, Valvert, then Montfleury.

      A marquis (watching De Guiche, who comes down from Roxane's box, and crosses the pit surrounded by obsequious noblemen, among them the Viscount de Valvert):

       He pays a fine court, your De Guiche!

      ANOTHER:

       Faugh! … Another Gascon!

      THE FIRST:

       Ay, but the cold, supple Gascon--that is the stuff success is made of!

       Believe me, we had best make our bow to him.

      (They go toward De Guiche.)

      SECOND MARQUIS:

       What fine ribbons! How call you the color, Count de Guiche? 'Kiss me, my

       darling,' or 'Timid Fawn?'

      DE GUICHE:

       'Tis the color called 'Sick Spaniard.'

      FIRST MARQUIS:

       'Faith! The color speaks truth, for, thanks to your valor, things will soon

       go ill for Spain in Flanders.

      DE GUICHE:

       I go on the stage! Will you come?

       (He goes toward the stage, followed by the marquises and gentlemen. Turning, he calls):

       Come you Valvert!

      CHRISTIAN (who is watching and listening, starts on hearing this name):

       The Viscount! Ah! I will throw full in his face my …

       (He puts his hand in his pocket, and finds there the hand of a pickpocket who is about to rob him. He turns round):

       Hey?

      THE PICKPOCKET:

       Oh!

      CHRISTIAN (holding him tightly):

       I was looking for a glove.

      THE PICKPOCKET (smiling piteously):

       And you find a hand.

       (Changing his tone, quickly and in a whisper):

       Let me but go, and I will deliver you a secret.

      CHRISTIAN (still holding him):

       What is it?

      THE PICKPOCKET:

       Ligniere … he who has just left you …

      CHRISTIAN (same play):

       Well?

      THE PICKPOCKET:

       His life is in peril. A song writ by him has given offense in high places--

       and a hundred men--I am of them--are posted to-night …

      CHRISTIAN:

       A hundred men! By whom posted?

      THE PICKPOCKET:

       I may not say--a secret …

      CHRISTIAN (shrugging his shoulders):

       Oh!

      THE PICKPOCKET (with great dignity):

      … Of the profession.

      CHRISTIAN:

       Where are they posted?

      THE PICKPOCKET:

       At the Porte de Nesle. On his way homeward. Warn him.

      CHRISTIAN (letting go of his wrists):

       But where can I find him?

      THE PICKPOCKET:

       Run round to all the taverns--The Golden Wine Press, the Pine Cone, The Belt

       that Bursts, The Two Torches, The Three Funnels, and at each leave a word that

       shall put him on his guard.

      CHRISTIAN:

       Good--I fly! Ah, the scoundrels! A hundred men 'gainst one!

       (Looking lovingly at Roxane):

       Ah, to leave her! …

       (looking with rage at Valvert):

       and him! … But save Ligniere I must!

      (He hurries out. De Guiche, the viscount, the marquises, have all disappeared behind the

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