The Daughter. Very fine. Do you hear the nightingales?

The Uncle. Yes, yes.

The Daughter. A little wind is rising in the avenue.

The Grandfather. A little wind in the avenue?

The Daughter. Yes; the trees are trembling a little.

The Uncle. I am surprised that my sister is not here yet.

The Grandfather. I cannot hear the nightingales any longer.

The Daughter. I think someone has come into the garden, grandfather.

The Grandfather. Who is it?

The Daughter. I do not know; I can see no one.