Page:Cyrano de Bergerac.djvu/218

206 'Tis now the love-song of the wandering goat-herds!… Hark!… 'tis the valley, the wet landes, the forest, The sunburnt shepherd-boy with scarlet béret, The dusk of evening on the Dordogue river,—

'Tis Gascony! Hark, Gascons, to the music!

But you make them weep!

Ay, for home-sickness. A nobler pain than hunger,—'tis of the soul, not of the body! I am well pleased to see their pain change its viscera. Heart-ache is better than stomach-ache.

But you weaken their courage by playing thus on their heart-strings!

Not I. The hero that sleeps in Gascon blood is ever ready to awake in them. 'Twould suffice…

What? What is it?