CHRISTIAN: Should? . . .
CYRANO: Speak of the letters? . . .
CHRISTIAN: Yes, I know! . . .
CYRANO: Do not spoil all by seeming surprised . . .
CHRISTIAN: At what?
CYRANO: I must explain to you! . . . Oh! 'tis no great matter — I but thought of it to- day on seeing her. You have . . .
CHRISTIAN: Tell quickly!
CYRANO: You have . . . written to her oftener than you think . . .
CHRISTIAN: How so?
CYRANO: Thus, 'faith! I had taken it in hand to express your flame for you! . . . At times I wrote without saying, 'I am writing!'
CHRISTIAN: Ah! . . .
CYRANO: 'Tis simple enough!
CHRISTIAN: But how did you contrive, since we have been cut off, thus . . . to? . . .
CYRANO: . . . Oh! before dawn . . . I was able to get through . . .
CHRISTIAN (folding his arms): That was simple, too? And how oft, pray you, have I written? . . . Twice in the week? . . . Three times? . . . Four? . . .
CYRANO: More often still.
CHRISTIAN: What! Every day?
CYRANO: Yes, every day, — twice.
CHRISTIAN (violently): And that became so mad a joy for you, that you braved death . . .
CYRANO (seeing Roxane returning): Hush! Not before her!
(He goes hurriedly into his tent.)