They collect in groups or mingle with the bystanders, chatting, laughing, panting.

Their violent exercise has played sad havoc with the paint upon their faces and bodies, rendering them less fantastic but more ludicrous.

The drummer occasionally raps his instrument to satisfy himself that it is in order, otherwise there is a lull of which all avail themselves to take part in the general conversation.

Children resume their sports in the court-yard.
Suddenly loud peals of laughter are heard on every side, and all eyes turn simultaneously toward the passage-way whence are issuing half a dozen strange-looking creatures.

They do not walk into the polygon, but rather tumble into it, running, hopping, stumbling, cutting capers, like a troop of clumsy, ill-trained clowns.