(TYLTYL _turns the Diamond. A long-drawn-out rustling shakes the leaves and branches. The oldest and most stately trunks open to make way for the soul which each of them contains. The appearance of these souls differs according to the appearance and the character of the trees which they represent. The soul of the_ ELM, _for instance, is a sort of pursy, pot-bellied, crabbed gnome; the_ LIME-TREE _is placid, familiar and jovial; the_ BEECH, _elegant and agile; the_ BIRCH, _white, reserved and restless; the_ WILLOW, _stunted, dishevelled and plaintive; the_ FIR-TREE, _tall, lean and taciturn; the_ CYPRESS, _tragic; the_ CHESTNUT-TREE, _pretentious and rather dandified; the_ POPLAR, _sprightly, cumbersome, talkative. Some emerge slowly from their trunks, torpidly stretching themselves, as though they had been imprisoned or asleep for ages; others leap out actively, eagerly; and all come and stand in a circle round the two_ CHILDREN, _while keeping as near as they can to the tree in which they were born_.) THE POPLAR (_running up first and screaming at the top of his voice_) Men?... Little men!... We shall be able to talk to them!... We've done with silence!... Done with it!... Where do they come from?... Who are they?... What are they?... (_To the_ LIME-TREE, _who comes forward quietly smoking his pipe_) Do you know them, Daddy Lime-Tree?... THE LIME-TREE I do not remember ever having seen them.... THE POPLAR Oh, yes, you must have!... You know all the men; you're always hanging about their houses.... THE LIME-TREE (_examining the_ CHILDREN) No, I assure you.... I don't know them.... They are too young still.... I only know the lovers who come to see me by moonlight and the topers who drink their beer under my branches.... THE CHESTNUT-TREE (_affectedly adjusting his eyeglass_) Who are these?... Are they poor people from the country?... THE POPLAR Oh, as for you, Mr. Chestnut-Tree, ever since you have refused to show yourself except in the streets of the big towns... THE WILLOW (_hobbling along in a pair of wooden shoes_) Oh dear, oh dear!... They have come to cut off my head and arms again for fagots!... 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!...