CRONIAMANTAL
Alas! Alas! To leave again, to wander unto the oceanic limits, through the brush, the evergreen, in the scum, in the mud, the dust, across the forests, the prairies, the plantations, and the very happy gardens.
TRISTOUSE
Go away. Go away, far from the antique perfume of my hair, o thou who belongest to me.
And Croniamantal went off without turning his head once; he could be seen for a long time through the branches, and then his voice could be heard growing fainter and fainter as he disappeared from view.
CRONIAMANTAL
Traveller without a stick, pilgrim without staff and poet without a writing pad, I am more powerless than all other men, I own nothing more and I know nothing...
And his voice no longer reached Tristouse Ballerinette who was admiring her image in the pool.
In another age monks cultivated the forest of Malverne.
MONKS