The Duke.
And, dead, you love him still?
Roxane.
He is but partly dead,—our hearts still speak,
As if his love, still living, wrapped me round!
The Duke.
[after another pause].
Cyrano comes to see you?
Roxane.
Cyrano comes to see you?Often, ay.
Dear, kind old friend! We call him my 'Gazette.'
He never fails to come: beneath this tree
They place his chair, if it be fine:—I wait,
I broider;—the clock strikes;—at the last stroke
I hear,—for now I never turn to look—
Too sure to hear his cane tap down the steps;
He seats himself:—with gentle raillery
He mocks my tapestry that's never done;
He tells me all the gossip of the week…
[Le Bret appears on the steps.]
Why, here's Le Bret!
[Le Bret descends.]
How goes it with our friend?
Le Bret.
Ill!—very ill.
The Duke.
Ill!—very illHow?
Roxane.
[to the Duke].
Ill!—very ill. How?He exaggerates!
