The Woodpecker
[Trying to get Chantecler’s attention behind the Pheasant-hen’s back.] Pst!
The Pheasant-hen
[Turning around, furious.] You!—You had better! [The Woodpecker alertly retires, bumping his head.]
Chantecler
[In the flower.] An elderly Cock?—I hope that the Hens—? [With intonations more and more expressive of relief.] Ah, that’s right! that’s right! that’s right! [He ends, with evident lightening of the heart.] A father! [As if answering a question.] Do I sing? Yes, but far away from here, at the water-side.
The Pheasant-hen
Oh!
Chantecler
[With a tinge of bitterness.] Golden Pheasants will not long allow one to purchase glory by too strenuous an effort, and so I go off by myself, and work at the Dawn in secret.
The Pheasant-hen
[Approaching from behind with threatening countenance.] Oh!
Chantecler
As soon as the beauteous eye which enthralls me—
The Pheasant-hen
[Pausing.] Oh!
Chantecler
—closes, and in her surpassing loveliness she sleeps—
The Pheasant-hen
[Delighted.] Ah!