THE DUKE:
And, dead, you love him still?

ROXANE:
At times,--meseems
He is but partly dead--our hearts still speak,
As if his love, still living, wrapped me round!

THE DUKE (after another pause):
Cyrano comes to see you?

ROXANE:
Often, ay.
Dear, kind old friend! We call him my 'Gazette.'
He never fails to come: beneath this tree
They place his chair, if it be fine:--I wait,
I broider;--the clock strikes;--at the last stroke
I hear,--for now I never turn to look--
Too sure to hear his cane tap down the steps;
He seats himself:--with gentle raillery
He mocks my tapestry that's never done;
He tells me all the gossip of the week. . .
(Le Bret appears on the steps):
Why, here's Le Bret!
(Le Bret descends):
How goes it with our friend?

LE BRET:
Ill!--very ill.