The same. Two children, who have just trotted into the shop.
What would you, little ones?
RAGUENEAU (serving them):
See, hot and well browned.
If it please you, Sir, will you wrap them up for us?
RAGUENEAU (aside, distressed):
Alas! one of my bags!
(To the children):
What? Must I wrap them up?
(He takes a bag, and just as he is about to put in the pies, he reads):
'Ulysses thus, on leaving fair Penelope. . .'
Not that one!
(He puts it aside, and takes another, and as he is about to put in the pies, he reads):
'The gold-locked Phoebus. . .'
Nay, nor that one!. . .
What are you dallying for?
Here! here! here
(He chooses a third, resignedly):
The sonnet to Phillis!. . .but 'tis hard to part with it!
By good luck he has made up his mind at last!
(Shrugging her shoulders):
(She mounts on a chair, and begins to range plates on a dresser.)
RAGUENEAU (taking advantage of the moment she turns her back, calls back the children, who are already at the door):
Hist! children!. . .render me back the sonnet to Phillis, and you shall have six pies instead of three.
(The children give him back the bag, seize the cakes quickly, and go out.)
RAGUENEAU (smoothing out the paper, begins to declaim):
'Phillis!. . .' On that sweet name a smear of butter! 'Phillis!. . .'
(Cyrano enters hurriedly.)