THE BLACKBIRD Fear, I warn you, lovely Zingara, leads to dyspepsia! It’s because he keeps his eye closed and buried in the sand that the ostrich has preserved his famous digestion! THE PHEASANT-HEN So it might seem. THE BLACKBIRD We have in these latter days bowed Tragedy respectfully out of the house! THE PHEASANT-HEN But had we not best warn Chantecler, so that-- THE BLACKBIRD He would go instantly and challenge them. And then such a whetting of steel! THE PHEASANT-HEN You are right. So he would. THE BLACKBIRD On your principle, mad Gitana, an oak-gall could be made into a world. THE PHEASANT-HEN You have much good sense. THE BLACKBIRD Daughter of the forest, I have. CHANTECLER’S VOICE [_Outside._] Coa-- THE PHEASANT-HEN Chantecler! CHANTECLER [_Approaching on the left, between the hollies, calls from afar._] Who is there? THE PHEASANT-HEN It is I! CHANTECLER [_Still from a distance._] Alone? THE PHEASANT-HEN [_With a significant look at the_ BLACKBIRD.] Yes, alone. THE BLACKBIRD [_Understanding._] I vanish--I am off to supper. THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Low to the_ BLACKBIRD.] And so--? THE BLACKBIRD [_Motioning her to be silent._] Keep it dark! [_As he is leaving, by the right, in the manner of one giving an order to a waiter._] Earwigs for one! THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Low._] It is wiser, you think, not to tell him? THE BLACKBIRD [_Before disappearing among the flower-pots._] Well, rather! SCENE THIRD THE PHEASANT-HEN, CHANTECLER. CHANTECLER [_Who has reached the_ PHEASANT-HEN’S _side._] Out so early? THE PHEASANT-HEN To see the daybreak. CHANTECLER [_With repressed emotion._] Ah--? THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Teasingly._] What troubles you? CHANTECLER I have had a wretched night. THE PHEASANT-HEN So sorry! [_A pause._] CHANTECLER Are you going to the Guinea-hen’s? THE PHEASANT-HEN I stayed over solely for that purpose. CHANTECLER Ah, yes, I know. [_A pause._] I dislike her extremely. THE PHEASANT-HEN Come to her party. CHANTECLER No. THE PHEASANT-HEN As you please. Then we may as well say good-bye. CHANTECLER No. THE PHEASANT-HEN Come to the Guinea-hen’s. We shall have a chance to see something of each other there. CHANTECLER No. THE PHEASANT-HEN You are determined not to come? CHANTECLER I am coming--but I hate it. THE PHEASANT-HEN Why? CHANTECLER It is weak. THE PHEASANT-HEN No, no! That is no great sign of weakness! CHANTECLER Ah--? THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Softly, coming closer to him._] What would be showing a sweet, delightful, and fully masculine weakness-- CHANTECLER [_In alarm at her approach._] What? THE PHEASANT-HEN Would be to tell me your secret. Oh, just a wee bit! CHANTECLER [_With a start._] The secret of my song? THE PHEASANT-HEN Yes. CHANTECLER Golden Hen, my secret-- THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Coaxingly._] Often from the edge of the woods I hear you in the first golden glimmer of day-- CHANTECLER [_Flattered._] My song has reached your shapely little ear?