The Pheasant-hen
[Beside him, stamping her feet.] Boldly, Day!
Chantecler
[Crying encouragements to the Light.] Yes, there, there before you, is a roof for you to gild! Come, come, a touch of green on that patch of waving hemp!
The Pheasant-hen
[Beside herself with excitement.] A glimmer of white on that road!
Chantecler
A wash of blue on the river!
The Pheasant-hen
[In a great cry.] The Sun! Look, the Sun!
Chantecler
There he is, I can see him, but we must hale him from that grove! [And both of them, moving backward together, appear to be drawing something after them. Chantecler prolonging his crow as if to drag up the Sun by it.] Cooooooo—
The Pheasant-hen
[Shouting above Chantecler’s crow.] There he comes—
Chantecler
—oock-a—
The Pheasant-hen
—climbing—
Chantecler
—doodle—