THE PHEASANT-HEN It has! CHANTECLER [_Abruptly, moving away from her._] My secret--Never! THE PHEASANT-HEN You are not very gallant! CHANTECLER No--I am full of conflict and misery. THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Languidly reciting._] The Cock and the Pheasant-hen a Fable-- CHANTECLER [_Half aloud._] A Cock loved a Pheasant-hen-- THE PHEASANT-HEN And would not tell her anything-- CHANTECLER Moral-- THE PHEASANT-HEN It was horrid of him! CHANTECLER [_Pressing close to her._] Moral: Your dress has the fascinating rustle of silk! THE PHEASANT-HEN Moral: I dislike familiarity! [_Withdrawing from him._] Go home to your Hen of the plebeian petticoat! CHANTECLER [_Stamping._] I shall be angry! THE PHEASANT-HEN No, no, don’t be angry--Say “Coa--” [_They stand bill to bill._] CHANTECLER [_Angrily._] Coa-- THE PHEASANT-HEN No, no! Say it nicely-- CHANTECLER [_In a long, tender coo._] Coa-- THE PHEASANT-HEN Look at me without laughing. Your secret-- CHANTECLER Well? THE PHEASANT-HEN You are dying to tell it to me! CHANTECLER Yes, I feel that I shall tell, and I know I shall do ill in telling. And it’s all because of the gold on her dainty little head! [_Going brusquely nearer to her._] Shall you prove worthy, at least, of having been chosen? Is your breast true red to the core? THE PHEASANT-HEN Now tell me! CHANTECLER Look at me, Pheasant-hen, and try, if indeed it be possible, try to recognise, by yourself, sign by sign, the vocation of which my body is the symbol. Guess, to begin with, at my destiny from my shape, and see how, curved like a sort of living hunting-horn, I am as much formed for sound to turn and gain volume within me, as the wild duck is formed to swim!--Wait!--Mark the fact that, impatient and proud, scratching up the earth with my claws, I appear always to be seeking something in the soil-- THE PHEASANT-HEN You are seeking for grains of corn, seeds, I suppose. CHANTECLER Never! I have never looked for such things. I find them occasionally, into the bargain, but disdainfully I give them to my Hens. THE PHEASANT-HEN Well, then, in your perpetual scratching, what is it you are looking for? CHANTECLER The right spot! For always before singing I carefully choose my stand. Pray, observe-- THE PHEASANT-HEN True, and then you ruffle your feathers.