CYRANO (smiling): A flattering welcome!
A CADET: We are sick to death of him!
ANOTHER CADET: — With his lace collar over his armor, playing the fine gentleman!
ANOTHER: As if one wore linen over steel!
THE FIRST: It were good for a bandage had he boils on his neck.
THE SECOND: Another plotting courtier!
ANOTHER CADET: His uncle's own nephew!
CARBON: For all that — a Gascon.
THE FIRST: Ay, false Gascon! . . . trust him not . . . Gascons should ever be crack-brained . . . Naught more dangerous than a rational Gascon.
LE BRET: How pale he is!
ANOTHER: Oh! he is hungry, just like us poor devils; but under his cuirass, with its fine gilt nails, his stomach-ache glitters brave in the sun.
CYRANO (hurriedly): Let us not seem to suffer either! Out with your cards, pipes, and dice . . . (All begin spreading out the games on the drums, the stools, the ground, and on their cloaks, and light long pipes): And I shall read Descartes.
(He walks up and down, reading a little book which he has drawn from his pocket. Tableau. Enter De Guiche. All appear absorbed and happy. He is very pale. He goes up to Carbon.)