KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (_resolved not to hear_)

The hour of the siesta is passing. The cone-shaped shadows of the pear
trees grow long on the gravel path. We've talked away our sleepiness.
You've forgotten the flies, your uneasy stomach, and the heat which
dances in waves on the meadows. The beautiful, sultry day is dying.
Already there's a breeze bringing perfume from the pines. Their trunks
are melting into bright tears....

TOBY-DOG

Here She is! She's left her wicker chair, stretched her lovely arms and,
judging from the movement of her dress, I think we're going to take a
walk. See her behind the rosebushes? Now, with her nails she breaks a
leaf from the lemon tree; she's crumpling it up and smelling it. Ah ...
I belong to Her, soul and body. With my eyes closed I can divine her
presence.

KIKI-THE-DEMURE

Yes, I see Her. She is quiet and gentle for the time being. He'll leave
his paper now to follow her. He'll come out calling, "Where are you?"
and sit on the bench, tired out. For _him_, I shall rise politely, and
go "do my nails" along the leg of his trousers. Silent, happy
companions, we'll listen for the day's departing footsteps. The perfume
of the lindens will become sickeningly sweet at the same hour that my
seer's eyes grow big and black and read mysterious Signs in the air....
Later on a calm fire will be lit down there, behind the pointed
mountain--a circle of glistening rose-color in the gray-blue of the
night--a sort of luminous cocoon from which will burst the dazzling edge