[The dance becomes swifter, the motions more abandoned, and strange, wailing notes begin to make themselves heard in the voices of the Old Women as they hum the tune, and reiterations of weird laughter to run softly round the circle like a ripple. Each time that the dancers pass before the Man they shoot into his ear such whispered ejaculations as:]
Do you remember it, Man?
Do you remember it?
How ravishing it all was—how voluptuous? How delightful to the soul?
Do you remember it, Man?
You are going to die soon!
You are going to die soon!
You are going to die soon!
Do you remember it, Man?
[Still more swiftly the Old Women circle in the dance; still more wild and uncouth their antics become. Suddenly all become stricken to silence, and come to a dead stop—even the musicians standing arrested in the exact attitudes of playing, and remaining perfectly silent and motionless. The Man rises, and tries to stand upright, with his handsome grey head shaking tremulously. Lastly, in a startlingly loud voice—a voice charged with entreaty, wrath, and mortal agony—he cries out, with a pause between each several phrase:]