THE CHILD
You shall see.... Time is drawing the bolts....

TYLTYL
Who is Time?...

THE CHILD
An old man who comes to call those who are going....

TYLTYL
Is he wicked?...

THE CHILD
No; but he hears nothing.... Beg as they may, if it's not their turn, he
pushes back all those who try to go....

TYLTYL
Are they glad to go?...

THE CHILD
We are sorry when we are left behind, but we are sad when we go.... There!
There!... He is opening the doors!...

(_The great opalescent doors turn slowly on their hinges. The sounds of
the earth are heard like a distant music. A red and green light penetrates
into the hall_; TIME, _a tall old man with a streaming beard, armed
with his scythe and hourglass, appears upon the threshold; and the
spectator perceives the extremity of the white and gold sails of a galley
moored to a sort of quay, formed by the rosy mists of the Dawn_.)