CHANTECLER The trouble is he is so conspicuous. That increases our dilemma. Where can he lie concealed?--Gentle sir, my lord, most noble stranger, where might we hope to hide the rainbow, supposing it in danger? PATOU There by the bench with the beehives stands my green cottage, very much at your service.--Go in, I pray! [_The_ GOLDEN PHEASANT _goes in, but his long tail projects._] There is too much of this golden vanity!--The tip is still in sight.--I shall have to sit on it. [BRIFFAUT _appears above the wall. Long hanging ears and quivering chops._] PATOU [_To_ BRIFFAUT, _affecting unconcern._] Good afternoon! BRIFFAUT [_Snuffing._] Humph, what a good smell! PATOU [_Pointing to his bowl._] My poor dinner! Soup with seasonable vegetables. BRIFFAUT [_Hurriedly._] Have you seen a pheasant-hen go by? PATOU [_In astonishment, reflecting._] A pheasant-hen,--? CHANTECLER [_Walking about, with an assumption of gaiety._] Impressive, isn’t he, Briffaut there? with his look of a thoroughbred old Englishman! PATOU No, but I saw a pheasant. BRIFFAUT That was she! PATOU A pheasant-hen wears dun. This was a golden pheasant He went off towards the meadow. BRIFFAUT It is she! CHANTECLER [_Going towards him, incredulous._] A pheasant-hen with golden plumage? BRIFFAUT Ah, you do not know what sometimes happens? CHANTECLER _and_ PATOU No. THE BLACKBIRD We are in for a hunting yarn!--Give me chloroform! BRIFFAUT It sometimes happens--the thing is exceptional, of course--My master knows because he has read about it.--It sometimes happens--An extraordinary phenomenon to be sure! which is likewise observed among moor-fowl.--It happens-- PATOU What happens? BRIFFAUT That the pheasant-hen--Ah, my dear fellows--! CHANTECLER [_Stamping with impatience._] The pheasant-hen what?--what? BRIFFAUT Makes up her mind one day that the cock-pheasant goes altogether too fine. When the male in springtime puts on his holiday feathers, she sees that he is handsomer than she-- THE BLACKBIRD And it makes her sore! BRIFFAUT She leaves off laying and hatching eggs. Nature then gives her back her purple and her gold, and the pheasant-hen proud and magnificent Amazon, preferring to put on her back blue, green, yellow, all the colours of the prism, rather than under a sober grey wing to shelter a brood of young pheasants, flies freely forth--Light-mindedly she sheds the virtues of her sex, and having done it--sees life! [_He sketches with his paw a slightly disrespectful gesture._] CHANTECLER [_Dryly._] Pray, what do you know about it? 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.