our jealousy.

CYRANO (starting):
What mean you?

ROXANE:
Ay, your poet's jealousy! Hark now, if this again be not tender-sweet?--
'My heart to yours sounds but one cry:
If kisses fast could flee
By letter, then with your sweet lips
My letters read should be!
If kisses could be writ with ink,
If kisses fast could flee!'

CYRANO (smiling approvingly in spite of himself):
Ha! those last lines are,--hm!. . .hm!. . .
(Correcting himself--contemptuously):
--They are paltry enough!

ROXANE:
And this. . .

CYRANO (enchanted):
Then you have his letters by heart?

ROXANE:
Every one of them!

CYRANO:
By all oaths that can be sworn,--'tis flattering!

ROXANE:
They are the lines of a master!

CYRANO (modestly):
Come, nay. . .a master?. . .

ROXANE:
Ay, I say it--a master!

CYRANO:
Good--be it so.

THE DUENNA (coming down quickly):
Here comes Monsieur de Guiche!
(To Cyrano, pushing him toward the house):
In with you! 'twere best he see you not; it might perchance put him on the
scent. . .

ROXANE (to Cyrano):
Ay, of my own dear secret! He loves me, and is powerful, and, if he knew,
then all were lost! Marry! he could well deal a deathblow to my love!

CYRANO (entering the house):
Good! good!

(De Guiche appears.)

Scene 3.II.

Roxane, De Guiche, the duenna standing a little way off.

ROXANE (courtesying to De Guiche):
I was going out.

DE GUICHE:
I come to take my leave.

ROXANE:
Whither go you?

DE GUICHE:
To the war.

ROXANE:
Ah!

DE GUICHE:
Ay, to-night.

ROXANE:
Oh!

DE GUICHE:
I am ordered away. We are to besiege Arras.

ROXANE:
Ah--to besiege?. . .

DE GUICHE:
Ay. My going moves you not, meseems.

ROXANE:
Nay. . .

DE GUICHE:
I am grieved to the core of the heart. Shall I again behold you?. . .When?
I know not. Heard you that I am named commander?. . .

ROXANE (indifferently):
Bravo!

DE GUICHE:
Of the Guards regiment.

ROXANE (startled):
What! the Guards?

DE GUICHE:
Ay, where serves your cousin, the swaggering boaster. I will find a way to
revenge myself on him at Arras.

ROXANE (choking):
What mean you? The Guards go to Arras?

DE GUICHE (laughing):
Bethink you, is it not my own regiment?

ROXANE (falling seated on the bench--aside):
Christian!

DE GUICHE:
What ails you?

ROXANE (moved deeply):
Oh--I am in despair! The man one loves!