Afterwards, the merry talk was resumed in a lively manner, full of warmth, beneath those branches so little accustomed to hear so many voices.

The trees seemed sad, while the vines swung back and forth as if to say, "Farewell, youth! Farewell, dream of a day!" Now in the light of the great red torches of bamboo and with the sound of the guitars let us leave them on the road to the town.

The groups grow smaller, the lights are extinguished, the songs die away, and the guitar becomes silent as they approach the abodes of men.

Put on the mask now that you are once more amongst your kind!.