The Grand-duke
[Spreading his wings.] Hush! [Dead silence.]
Scops
And after that—
The Blackbird
[Hopping.] It’s quite a tidy proposition as it stands—
Scops
What?
The Blackbird
Your scheme! By Jingo, if I were the sort of bird to take things solemnly, I would go straight to the Cock and tell him. But I will do nothing of the sort. [He concludes, with four little hops.] For I know—that all this—will turn out—beautifully!
Scops
[Ironically.] Beautifully indeed! [He continues in growing excitement.] And after that, if those absurd Cocks of far-fetched breeds have not by to-morrow evening gone back to their cages, we will eat them all, no longer good for anything!
The Grand-duke
[In his neighbour’s ear.] And after that we will eat the Blackbird for dessert.
The Blackbird
[Who has not caught the last sentence.] What did he say?
Scops
[Quickly.] Nothing! [In a still increasing frenzy of glee.] And after that—
[In the distance: Cock-a-doodle-doo! Instant silence. Scops stops short and collapses, as if mown down. All the puffed Owls appear suddenly to have grown thin.]