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CYRANO DE BERGERAC
Carbon. 'Spolia opima!
All
[laughing].
Ah ! ah ! ah !
Cuigy.
He who laid that ambush, 'faith! Must curse and swear!
Brissaille.
Who was it? {De Guiche.} I myself
[The laughter stops.]
I charged — them work too dirty for my sword, To punish and chastise a rhymster sot.
[Constrained silence.]
The Cadet
[in a low voice, to Cyrano, showing him the beavers].
What do with them? They're full of grease! — a stew?
Cyrano
[taking the sword and, with a salute, dropping the hats at De Guiche's feet].
Sir, pray be good enough to render them Back to your friends.
De Guiche
[rising, sharply].
My chair there — quick! — I go!
[To Cyrano passionately.]
As to you, sirrah! . . .
