The Pheasant-hen
What are you going to do?
Chantecler
Follow my calling.
The Pheasant-hen
But what night is there for you to rout?
Chantecler
The night of the eyelid!
The Pheasant-hen
[Pointing toward the growing glory of the dawn.] Very well, you will rouse sleepers—
Chantecler
And Saint Peter!
The Pheasant-hen
But can you not see that Day has risen without the benefit of your crowing?
Chantecler
I am more sure of my destiny than of the daylight before my eyes.
The Pheasant-hen
[Pointing at the Nightingale who has already half disappeared into the earth.] Your faith can no more return to life than can that dead bird.
[From the tree above their heads suddenly rings forth the heart-stirring, limpid, characteristic note: Tio! Tio!]