(An air on the drone-pipes is heard, and Montfleury enters, enormously stout,
in an Arcadian shepherd's dress, a hat wreathed with roses drooping over one
ear, blowing into a ribboned drone pipe.)

THE PIT (applauding):
Bravo, Montfleury! Montfleury!

MONTFLEURY (after bowing low, begins the part of Phedon):
'Heureux qui loin des cours, dans un lieu solitaire,
Se prescrit a soi-meme un exil volontaire,
Et qui, lorsque Zephire a souffle sur les bois. . .'

A VOICE (from the middle of the pit):
Villain! Did I not forbid you to show your face here for month?

(General stupor. Every one turns round. Murmurs.)

DIFFERENT VOICES:
Hey?--What?--What is't?. . .

(The people stand up in the boxes to look.)

CUIGY:
'Tis he!

LE BRET (terrified):
Cyrano!

THE VOICE:
King of clowns! Leave the stage this instant!