Scythe.
Where flies the beetle, I pursue. There, I hear it now! [The buzz of a flying beetle is heard.] Lovely night-beetle! Now you rise, and now you sink in curving flight. [He pursues, listening, till the sound ceases.] Now you’ve rested on a night-blooming flower, and I’ll approach more softly than lover does a dreaming maid, nor wake with rude-paced step your finer sense of airy motion. [He advances cautiously in search.]
Violet.
See, Ninon; he sees no one. In our time let maids be jealous. Science has its votaries as deeply rapt as love’s suitors.
Scythe [stopping, and observing the beetle on a flower].
What a rare and beautiful specimen for the Academy! Since early eve I’ve followed in the moonlight, through gardens, groves, and lawns. Now I’ll capture thee. [He throws his net over the flower, but the beetle, escaping, flies away with a buzzing sound, while he watches its course through his glass.] ’Tis a peerless beetle, with wings of purple filigreed with gold and silver, which leave in sparkling flight a trail of light. I’ll follow it till morning, but I’ll capture it.
[Exit Scythe in pursuit, and without having observed any one.
Violet.
Alack! few lovers are so ardent in their pursuit, and some do lag most grievously. [To Ninon] One was to come to-night, beneath my window, whom I’ve yet not seen.
Ninon.