Pizzicato strings open a quiet floor; flute takes the long main line, then woodwinds, clarinet, horns, and bowed strings trade and thicken the same measured tread. No voices yet. The form is pure instrumental exposition: theme stated, answered, gently recolored, held in a suspended walking pulse.

Choir enters on the naming lines—C’est Myrtille, c’est Lydé—and the dance becomes address. Provocation, reign, and the warning _Faites attention! Observez la mesure!_ arrive over the continuing orchestral step. The section’s job is to attach words to the already-known gait and prove the refrain can speak.

The text turns sharper—Nous serons bientôt leurs laquais—then snaps back to the opening roll call: C’est Lindor, c’est Tircis… C’est Myrtille, c’est Lydé. Orchestra and choir restate the first contract rather than invent a new one; return does the formal work.

Et c’est toujours de même locks the middle logic: adore, hate, curse, repeat. The _On s’adore! On se hait!_ couplet comes twice, making circularity itself the section’s function while the orchestral pavane keeps its even tread beneath.

Adieu Myrtille, Eglé, Chloé and bons jours aux tyrans de nos cœurs close the address. Voices fall away; the instrumental field thins, body lock loosens, and the track decays into terminal silence.

Whole form: a long instrumental floor, a choral naming that returns on itself, then a quiet release.