Briffaut
[Astonished.] Is he annoyed?
Patou
[Aside.] Already!
Chantecler
In short, the pheasant your master missed—
Briffaut
Was a she!—[He stops and scents the air.] Oh but!—
Patou
[Quickly, showing his dish.] You know, it’s my dinner you smell!
Briffaut
It smells very unusually good.
Chantecler
[Aside.] I don’t like that way his nose has of twitching.
Briffaut
[Starting upon another story.] Fancy such an instance as the following—
The Blackbird
Holy Smoke! Here comes another!—Oh, I say, hire a hall!
[A distant whistle is heard.]