Well then, let's see! cried his brothers. Your irony doesn't please me a bit, replied the other, and you'll not learn a thing. Moreover, during this rather sharp conversation, hasn't your sense of horror been blurred, or even erased? What use then to stir up the mire of your papilionaceous unconscious? Let's rather go wash ourselves in the fountain and greet this gay morning in hygiene and saintly euphoria! No sooner said than done: they slip out of their pod, let themselves roll gently to the ground, and trot joyously to the theatre of their ablutions.

• If wish to know what happens at the theater of their ablutions.
  
• I do not wish to know.