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
They are daisies!...
TYLTYL
Impossible!... They are as big as tables!...
THE LITTLE BLUE CHILD
And they smell so good!...
TYLTYL (_smelling them_)
Wonderful!...
THE LITTLE BLUE CHILD
They will grow like that when I am on earth....
TYLTYL
When will that be?...
THE LITTLE BLUE CHILD
In fifty-three years, four months and nine days....
(_Two_ BLUE CHILDREN _arrive, carrying, like a lustre hanging on a
pole, an incredible bunch of grapes, each larger than a pear_.)
ONE OF THE CHILDREN (_carrying the grapes_)
What do you say to my fruits?.
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