The Pheasant-hen
You are weary!
Chantecler
[Stiffening himself.] I refuse to be! [Wildly.] Cock-a-doodle-doo!
The Pheasant-hen
Exhausted!
Chantecler
Do you see those tatters of mist still clinging? Cock-a-doodle-doo!
The Pheasant-hen
You will kill yourself!
Chantecler
I only live, dear, when I am killing myself giving great splendid cries!
The Pheasant-hen
[Pressing close to his side.] I am proud of you!
Chantecler
[With emotion.] Your head bows—
The Pheasant-hen
I listen to the Day arising in your breast! I delight to hear first in your lungs what by-and-by will be purple and gold on the mountain sides!
Chantecler
[While the little distant houses begin to smoke in the dawn.] I dedicate to you moreover those reawakened farmsteads. Man offers trinkets, I wreaths and plumes of smoke!