'Tis now the love-song of the wandering goat-herds!…
Hark!… 'tis the valley, the wet landes, the forest,
The sunburnt shepherd-boy with scarlet béret,
The dusk of evening on the Dordogue river,—
'Tis Gascony! Hark, Gascons, to the music!
Carbon
[to Cyrano in a whisper].
But you make them weep!
Cyrano.
Ay, for home-sickness. A nobler pain than hunger,—'tis of the soul, not of the body! I am well pleased to see their pain change its viscera. Heart-ache is better than stomach-ache.
Carbon.
But you weaken their courage by playing thus on their heart-strings!
Cyrano
[ making a sign to a drummer to approach].
Not I. The hero that sleeps in Gascon blood is ever ready to awake in them. 'Twould suffice…
[He makes a signal; the drum beats.]
All the Cadets
[stand up and rush to take arms].
What? What is it?