O fountain! Thou who springest like a staunchless blood. Thou who art cold as marble, but living, transparent and fluid. Thou, ever renewed and ever the same. Thou who makest living thy verdant banks, I love thee. Thou art my unrivalled goddess. Thou quenchest my thirst. Thou purifiest me. Thou murmurest to me thine eternal song which rocks me to sleep in the evenings. THE FOUNTAIN At the bottom of my little bed full of an Orient of gems, I hear thee with contentment, o poet whom I have enchanted. I recall Avallon where we might have lived, thou as the King Fisher and I awaiting thee under the apple trees. O islands of apple trees. But I am happy in my precious little bed. These amethysts are sweet to my gaze. This lapis-lazuli is more blue than a fair sky. This malachite represents to me a prairie. Sardonyx, onyx, agate, rock-crystal, you shall scintillate tonight, for I will give a feast in honor of my lover. I shall come alone as befits a virgin. The power of my lover has already been manifested and his gifts are sweet to my soul. He has given me his eyes all in tears, two adorable fountains, sweet tributaries of my stream. CRONIAMANTAL O fecund fountain, thy waters resemble thy hair. Thy flowers are born about thee and we shall love each other always. Nothing could be heard but the song of birds and the rustling of leaves, and at times the plashing of a bird playing in the water. A dandy appeared in the little wood: It was Paponat the Algerian. He approached the fountain dancing. CRONIAMANTAL I know you. You are Paponat who studied in the Orient. PAPONAT Himself. O poet of the Occident, I come to visit you. I have learned of your enchantment, but I hear that it is not yet too late to converse with you. How humid it is here! It is not at all surprising that your voice is harsh, and you will certainly need a medicament to clear it. I approached you dancing. Is there no way of saving you from the situation in which you have placed yourself. CRONIAMANTAL Bah! But tell me who taught you to dance. PAPONAT The angels themselves were my dancing masters. CRONIAMANTAL The good or the bad angels? But no matter. I have had enough of all the dances, save one which the Greeks call _kordax._ PAPONAT You are gay, Croniamantal, we shall be able to amuse ourselves. I am glad I came here. I love gaiety. I am happy! And Paponat, his bright eyes profoundly whirling, rubbed his hands gleefully. CRONIAMANTAL You look like me! PAPONAT Not much. I am happy to live, while you die beside the fountain. CRONIAMANTAL But the happiness which you proclaim, do you not forget it? and forget mine? You resemble me! The happy man rubs his hands. Smell them. What do they smell like? PAPONAT The odour of death. CRONIAMANTAL