Your hands rest on my shoulders just as when I lay waiting for them without daring to wake.... JOYZELLE. And your arm is round my neck just as it was.... LANCÉOR. It was thus that your eyelids used to close at the breath of love.... JOYZELLE. And it was thus, too, that the tears came to your eyes when they opened.... LANCÉOR. When happiness is so great.... JOYZELLE. Unhappiness does not come so long as love binds it.... LANCÉOR. Do you love me?... JOYZELLE. Yes.... LANCÉOR. Oh, how you said "yes!"... "Yes" from the depths of your heart, from the depths of your thought, from the depths of your very soul!... I knew it, perhaps; but it had to be said; and our kisses themselves did not count without it.... Now it is enough, it will feed my life; all the hatred on earth could not wipe it away nor thirty years of distress exhaust it!... I am in the light and the spring overwhelms me!... I look up to the sky and the garden awakens!... Do you hear the birds making the trees sing and repeating your smile and that wonderful "yes;" and do you see the rays that caress your hair like diamonds sparkling among the flames and the thousands of flowers that bend over us to surprise in our eyes the mystery of a love which they did not know?... JOYZELLE. (_Opening her eyes._) There was nothing here but poor, dead flowers.... [_She looks around her, stupefied; for, since Lancéor's entrance, without their noticing it, the gloomy garden has become gradually transfigured by magic. The wild plants, the weeds that poisoned it have grown and each, according to its kind, has increased its flowers, blooming to a prodigious size. The puny bindweed has become a powerful creeper, whose wonderful blossoms engarland the trees weighed down with ripe fruits and peopled with miraculous birds. The pale pimpernel is now a tall shrub of a warm and tender green, with bursting flowers larger than lilies. The pale scabious has lengthened its stalks, from which spring tufts like mauve heliotrope.... Butterflies flit to and fro, the bees hum, the birds sing, the fruits swing and fall, the light streams down. The perspective of the garden has become infinitely extended; and the audience now sees, to the right, a marble basin, half-hidden behind a hedge of oleanders and turnsoles cut into arches._ LANCÉOR. There is nothing here now but the flowers of life!... Look!... They are coming down, they are streaming down upon us!... They are bursting on the branches, they bend the trees, they entangle our steps, they press against one another, they crush one another, they open out wide, one within the other, they blind the leaves, they dazzle the grass; I know none of them and the spring is drunk; I have never seen flowers so disordered, so resplendent!... JOYZELLE. Where are we?... LANCÉOR. We are in the garden which you would not open to my love....