Page:Cyrano de Bergerac.djvu/194

182

Good, good ! let it be so ! . . . He 'a raving mad !

I say from the moon ! I mean no metaphor ! ...

But. ..

Was't a hundred years - a minute, since ? - I cannot guess what time that fall embraced ! - That I was in that saffron-coloured ball ?

Good ! let me pass !

Where am I ? Tell the truth ! Fear not to tell ! Oh, spare me not ! Where ? where ? Have I fallen like a shooting star ?

Morbleu!

The fall was lightning-quick ! no time to choose Where I should fall - I know not where it be ! Oh tell me ! Is it on a moon or earth. That my posterior weight has landed me ?

I tell you, Sir ...