Do come and look at my machine which flies in the air like a bird without
wings!...

A FIFTH CHILD
No, no; mine first! It discovers the treasures hidden in the moon!...

THE BLUE CHILDREN (_crowding round_ TYLTYL _and_ MYTYL _and all crying
together_)
No, no, come and see mine!... No, mine is much finer!... Mine is a
wonderful invention!... Mine is made of sugar!... His is no good!... He
stole the idea from me!...

(_Amid these disordered exclamations, the_ LIVE CHILDREN _are
dragged towards the blue workshops, where each of the inventors sets his
ideal machine going. There ensues a cerulean whirl of wheels, disks,
flywheels, driving-wheels, pulleys, straps and strange and as yet unnamed
objects shrouded in the bluey mists of the unreal. A crowd of odd and
mysterious mechanisms dart forth and hover under the vaults or crawl at the
foot of the columns, while_ CHILDREN _unfold charts and plans, open
books, uncover azure statues and bring enormous flowers and gigantic fruits
that seem formed of sapphires and turquoises_.)

A LITTLE BLUE CHILD (_bending under the weight of some colossal blue
daisies_)
Look at my flowers!...

TYLTYL
What are they?... I don't know them....

THE LITTLE BLUE CHILD