The Pheasant-hen
[Following.] Did you ever hear him?
Chantecler
Never.
The Pheasant-hen
His song is so wonderful that the first time—[She stops short, struck by an idea.] Oh!
Chantecler
What is it?
The Pheasant-hen
[Aside.] Ah, you feel the weight of the darkness—
Chantecler
[Coming forward again.] What?
The Pheasant-hen
[With an ironical curtsey.] Nothing! [Carelessly.] Let us go to roost! [Chantecler goes to the back and is preparing to rise to a branch. The Pheasant-hen aside.] He does not know that when the Nightingale sings one listens, supposing it to be a minute, and lo! the whole night has been spent listening, even as happens in the enchanted forest of a German legend.
Chantecler
[As she does not join him, returns to her.] What are you saying?
The Pheasant-hen
[Laughing in his face.] Nothing!
A Voice
[Outside.] The illustrious Cock?