The Pheasant-hen
[Looking off.] I can see your work growing,—growing in the distance.
Chantecler
[Looking at her.] I can see it in your eyes!
The Pheasant-hen
Over the meadows—
Chantecler
On your throat—[In a smothered voice.] Oh, it is exquisite!
The Pheasant-hen
What?
Chantecler
I am at once doing my duty, and making you more fair. I am gilding my valley, while brightening your wing. [Tearing himself from love, and dashing toward the right.] But the shadow still fights all along the line of retreat. There is much to be done over there! Cock-a-doodle-doo!
The Pheasant-hen
[Looking up at the sky.] Oh, look!
Chantecler
[Looking too, sadly.] How can I prevent it? The morning star is fading out!
The Pheasant-hen
[In a tone of regret for the little bright spark which the growing light must necessarily quench.] It is fading out—
Chantecler
Alas!—But shall we therefore despond? [And tearing himself from melancholy, he springs toward the left.] There is still much to do over here. Cock-a—[At this point the crowing of other Cocks ascends from the valley. Chantecler listens, then softly.] Hark! Do you hear them now?