TYLTYL Don't tremble like that.... They will only come out for a moment....
MYTYL But you're trembling, too!... They will be awful!...
TYLTYL It is time, the hour is passing....
(TYLTYL turns the diamond. A terrifying minute of silence and motionlessness elapses, after which, slowly, the crosses totter, the mounds open, the slabs rise up....)
MYTYL (cowering against TYLTYL) They are coming out!... They are there!...
(Then, from all the gaping tombs, there rises gradually an efflorescence at first frail and timid, like steam; then white and virginal and more and more tufty, more and more tall and plentiful and marvellous. Little by little, irresistibly, invading all things, it transforms the graveyard into a sort of fairy-like and nuptial garden, over which rise the first rays of the dawn. The dew glitters, the flowers open their blooms, the wind murmurs in the leaves, the bees hum, the birds wake and flood the air with the first raptures of their hymns to the sun and to life. Stunned and dazzled, TYLTYL and MYTYL, holding each other by the hand, take a few steps among the flowers while they seek for the trace of the tombs.)
MYTYL (looking in the grass) Where are the dead?....
TYLTYL (looking also) There are no dead....