CHANTECLER [_In the flower._] An elderly Cock?--I hope that the Hens--? [_With intonations more and more expressive of relief._] Ah, that’s right! that’s right! that’s right! [_He ends, with evident lightening of the heart._] A father! [_As if answering a question._] Do I sing? Yes, but far away from here, at the water-side. THE PHEASANT-HEN Oh! CHANTECLER [_With a tinge of bitterness._] Golden Pheasants will not long allow one to purchase glory by too strenuous an effort, and so I go off by myself, and work at the Dawn in secret. THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Approaching from behind with threatening countenance._] Oh! CHANTECLER As soon as the beauteous eye which enthralls me-- THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Pausing._] Oh! CHANTECLER --closes, and in her surpassing loveliness she sleeps-- THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Delighted._] Ah! CHANTECLER I make my escape. THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Furious._] Oh! CHANTECLER I speed through the dew to a distant place, to sing there the necessary number of times, and when I feel the darkness wavering, when only one song more is needed, I return and noiselessly getting back to roost, wake the Pheasant-hen by singing it at her side.--Betrayed by the dew? Oh, no! [_Laughing._] For with a whisk of my wing I brush my feet clear of the tell-tale silveriness! THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Close behind him._] You brush your--? CHANTECLER [_Turning._] Ouch! [_Into the convolvulus._] No nothing! I--Later!--Ouch! THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Violently._] So! So! Not only you keep up an interest in the fidelity of your old flames-- CHANTECLER [_Evasively._] Oh! THE PHEASANT-HEN You furthermore-- CHANTECLER I-- THE BEE [_Inside the morning-glory._] Vrrrrrrr! CHANTECLER [_Placing his wing over the flower._] I-- THE PHEASANT-HEN You deceive me to the point of remembering to brush off your feet! CHANTECLER But-- THE PHEASANT-HEN This clodhopper, see now, whom I picked up off his haystack--and to rule alone in his soul is apparently quite beyond my power! CHANTECLER [_Collecting himself and straightening up._] When one dwells in a soul, it is better, believe me, to meet with the Dawn there, than with nothing. THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Angrily._] No! the Dawn defrauds me of a great and undivided love! CHANTECLER There is no great love outside the shadow of a great dream! How should there not flow more love from a soul whose very business it is to open wide every day? THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Coming and going stormily._] I will sweep everything aside with my golden russet wing! CHANTECLER And who are you, bent upon such tremendous sweeping [_They stand rigid and erect in front of each other, looking defiance into each other’s eyes._] THE PHEASANT-HEN The Pheasant-hen I am, who have assumed the golden plumage of the arrogant male! CHANTECLER Remaining in spite of all a female, whose eternal rival is the Idea! THE PHEASANT-HEN [_In a great cry._] Hold me to your heart and be still!