THE POPLAR
Silence!... Here is the Oak leaving his palace!... He looks far from well
this evening.... Don't you think he is growing very old?... What can his
age be?... The Fir-tree says he is four thousand; but I am sure that he
exaggerates.... Listen; he will tell us all about it....

(_The_ OAK _comes slowly forward. He is fabulously old, crowned with
mistletoe and clad in a long green gown edged with moss and lichen. He is
blind; his white beard streams in the wind. He leans with one hand on a
knotty stick and with the other on a young_ OAKLING, _who serves as
his guide. The Blue Bird is perched on his shoulder. At his approach, the
other trees draw themselves up in a row and bow respectfully_.)

TYLTYL
He has the Blue Bird!... Quick! Quick!... Here!... Give it to me!...

THE TREES
Silence!...

THE CAT (_to_ TYLTYL)
Take of your hat. It's the Oak!...

THE OAK (_to_ TYLTYL)
Who are you?....

TYLTYL
I am Tyltyl, sir.... When can I have the Blue Bird?...

THE OAK
Tyltyl, the wood-cutter's son?...