Mother Marguerite, Sister Martha, Sister Claire, other sisters.
SISTER MARTHA (to Mother Marguerite): Sister Claire glanced in the mirror, once--nay, twice, to see if her coif suited.
MOTHER MARGUERITE (to Sister Claire): 'Tis not well.
SISTER CLAIRE: But I saw Sister Martha take a plum Out of the tart.
MOTHER MARGUERITE (to Sister Martha): That was ill done, my sister.
SISTER CLAIRE: A little glance!
SISTER MARTHA: And such a little plum!
MOTHER MARGUERITE: I shall tell this to Monsieur Cyrano.
SISTER CLAIRE: Nay, prithee do not!--he will mock!
SISTER MARTHA: He'll say we nuns are vain!
SISTER CLAIRE: And greedy!
MOTHER MARGUERITE (smiling): Ay, and kind!
SISTER CLAIRE: Is it not true, pray, Mother Marguerite, That he has come, each week, on Saturday For ten years, to the convent?
MOTHER MARGUERITE: Ay! and more! Ever since--fourteen years ago--the day His cousin brought here, 'midst our woolen coifs, The worldly mourning of her widow's veil, Like a blackbird's wing among the convent doves!
SISTER MARTHA: He only has the skill to turn her mind From grief--unsoftened yet by Time--unhealed!
ALL THE SISTERS: He is so droll!--It's cheerful when he comes!-- He teases us!--But we all like him well!-- --We make him pasties of angelica!
SISTER MARTHA: But, he is not a faithful Catholic!
SISTER CLAIRE: We will convert him!
THE SISTERS: Yes! Yes!
MOTHER MARGUERITE: I forbid, My daughters, you attempt that subject. Nay, Weary him not--he might less oft come here!
SISTER MARTHA: But. . .God. . .
MOTHER MARGUERITE: Nay, never fear! God knows him well!
SISTER MARTHA: But--every Saturday, when he arrives, He tells me, 'Sister, I eat meat on Friday!'
MOTHER MARGUERITE: Ah! says he so? Well, the last time he came Food had not passed his lips for two whole days!
SISTER MARTHA: Mother!
MOTHER MARGUERITE: He's poor.
SISTER MARTHA: Who told you so, dear Mother?
MOTHER MARGUERITE: Monsieur Le Bret.
SISTER MARTHA: None help him?
MOTHER MARGUERITE: He permits not. (In an alley at the back Roxane appears, dressed in black, with a widow's coif and veil. De Guiche, imposing-looking and visibly aged, walks by her side. They saunter slowly. Mother Marguerite rises): 'Tis time we go in; Madame Madeleine Walks in the garden with a visitor.
SISTER MARTHA (to Sister Claire, in a low voice): The Marshal of Grammont?
SISTER CLAIRE (looking at him): 'Tis he, I think.
SISTER MARTHA: 'Tis many months now since he came to see her.
THE SISTERS: He is so busy!--The Court,--the camp!. . .
SISTER CLAIRE: The world!
(They go out. De Guiche and Roxane come forward in silence, and stop close to the embroidery frame.)
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