First Egyptian (unconscious of anything save the charm of the rhythm). Sweet vibrations these. But not our ancient harmonies. In our time they were different.
Second Egyptian. Our day! Our day! Endless memories of days. Oh, for an hour of sealed illusion!
The Boy Lover. Isn’t it perfect!
The Girl. Divine! It’s like a dream and I want to cry.
The Third Egyptian. The harmony! The harmony! (He points to the boy and girl. The three approach and stand before the lovers, viewing them with envious eyes). In ancient Egypt—on the banks of the Nile—how keen was this thrill of existence. How much greater is their reality than ours. And all because of their faith in it.
(The minister and the monk approach).
The Organist (finishing with a flourish). Well, there’s the end of my work tonight. (He closes various stops, begins to gather up his music and turn out the lights. The dryads and nymphs flood out of the windows, followed by the fawns, the hags, and the wastrels. The green-eyed bum starts to go, but pauses, looking back wistfully. The Egyptians, fading from their presence as such, appear only as pale flames of blue).
Mrs. Stillwater. Now that was lovely, wasn’t it?
Mrs. Pence. Charming, very charming!
The Boy. Don’t you love Wagner?