Page:Cyrano de Bergerac.djvu/170

158

Her window !

Oh! I shall die!

Speak lower !

I shall die !

The night is dark. ..

Well!

All can be repaired. Although you merit not. Stand there, poor wretch Fronting the balcony ! I'll go beneath And prompt your words to you. ..

But. ..

Hold your tongue !

Ho!

Hush !