But the feast of flowers is also the feast of Love. 'Tis the merry springtime, the blushing rose, the flowery mead that charm the senses most. This was well-known and recognized in Triton's city, and men rejoiced when this festival began, the festival of flowers, of roses and of the spring.
Five doleful men, with their swords slung over their shoulders and long lances in their hands, stride through the flower-strewn streets. The passers-by eye them with amazement. On this day the men of Triton's city do not walk the streets alone, every one of them has a gay companion by his side. On this day, too, no weapon is borne within the walls; these be certainly strangers who do not know the custom of the land.
In the midst of the flowery market-place stands an old, hollow, olive-tree, whose branches touch the earth, and whose glistening green leaves distribute their shade over a wide circle.
The five morose strangers are greeted with friendly words by enticing voices from every doorway. Smiling lips, seductive eyes, look down upon them from the roofs, and flowers are scattered upon them from the bridges which span the streets.
Silently, with downcast eyes, the strangers make their way to the old olive-tree, where they thrust their lances into the ground; spread their mantles over the points and there make a primitive tent in which they lay them down to rest.
The more curious of the mob surround this strange tent, whispering at first among themselves, then, presuming further, they cry aloud; boldly pull aside the downward hanging curtains and provoke the strangers with rude and shameful words.
Bar Noemi rose from his couch and stepped among the crowd.
"Ye men of Triton's city," he cried, "gather together unto me in your thousands!"
The men recognized him by his tremendous voice, and, in their terror, gave place to the youth.
Bar Noemi saw the multitude swaying to and fro in the flowery market-place; there were as many heads as wreaths.