The White Pile
[Driven to bay, against the hedge, prepares to use his razors.]
The Pheasant-hen
[Screaming.] Look out! He has two sharp razors at his heels, the beast!
Chantecler
I knew it!
The Cat
[From his tree, to the Game Cock.] Use your knives!
Patou
[Ready to spring from his wheelbarrow.] If he uses those, I ll strangle him, that’s all!
The Crowd
Oh!
Patou
I will! Howl you never so loud!
The White Pile
[Feeling himself lost.] No help for it!
The Pheasant-hen
[Closely watching him.] He is getting one of his razors ready!
The White Pile
[Striking with his sharp spur.] Take that! Die! [He utters a terrible cry, while Chantecler, avoiding the blow, springs aside.] Ah! [He drops to the ground. Cry of amazement.]