The Guinea-hen
[Seating her company, assisting the Hens to climb upon flower-pots, cold-frames, pumpkins.] Quick! quick!
The Blackbird
Our charming hostess is in great feather, doing the honours of an affair of honour.
Patou
[To Chantecler.] Go in and thrash him. This crowd is longing for the sight of your blood.
Chantecler
[Sadly.] I was never anything but kind!
Patou
[Showing the ring which has formed, the faces lighted with hateful eagerness.] Look at them! [All necks are craned, all eyes shine; it is hideous. Chantecler looks, understands, and bows his head.]
The Pheasant-hen
[With a cry of rage.] It’s a disgrace! A disgrace to the name of fowl!
Chantecler
[Raising his head again.] So be it. But they shall at least learn to-day who I was, and my secret—
Patou
No, don’t tell them, if it’s what my old dreamer’s heart has apprehended!
Chantecler
[Addressing the multitude, in a loud voice, solemnly, like one confessing his faith.] Know, all of you, that it is I —[Deep silence falls. To the White Pile, who has given a sign of impatience.] Your pardon, excellent duellist, but I have a mind, before getting myself killed, to do something brave—
The White Pile
[Surprised.] Ah?