The Black Hen
[Who has softly drawn near.] Cock—
Chantecler
What?
The Black Hen
Your special and tender regard for me—
Chantecler
[Quickly.] Hush!
The Black Hen
Tell me, do—
The White Hen
—the secret—
The Tufted Hen
—of your song? [Going still closer to him, in a voice thrilled with curiosity.] I do believe that you have in your throat a little copper contrivance—
Chantecler
That’s it, that’s what I have, very carefully concealed!
The White Hen
[Same business.] Most likely, like great tenors one has heard of, you gulp raw eggs—
Chantecler
You have guessed!—A second Ugolino!