CHANTECLER [_Crushing her brutally to him._] Yes, I strain you to my Cock’s heart--[_With infinite regret._] Better it were I had folded you to my Awakener’s soul! THE PHEASANT-HEN To deceive me for the Dawn’s sake! Very well, however much you may abhor it, you shall for my sake deceive the Dawn. CHANTECLER I? How? THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Stamping her foot; in a capricious tone._] It is my formal and explicit wish-- CHANTECLER But listen, dear-- THE PHEASANT-HEN My formal and explicit wish that you should for one whole day refrain altogether from singing. CHANTECLER That I-- THE PHEASANT-HEN I desire you to remain one whole day without singing. CHANTECLER But, heavens and earth, am I to leave the valley in total darkness? THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Pouting._] What harm will it do to the valley? CHANTECLER Whatever lies too long in darkness and sleep becomes used to falsehood and consents to death. THE PHEASANT-HEN Leave singing for one day--[_In a tone of evil insinuation._] It will free my mind of certain suspicions troubling it. CHANTECLER [_With a start._] I can see what you are trying to do! THE PHEASANT-HEN And I can see what you are afraid of! CHANTECLER [_Earnestly._] I will never give up singing. THE PHEASANT-HEN And what if you were mistaken? What if the truth were that Dawn comes without help from you? CHANTECLER [_With fierce resolution._] I shall not know it. THE PHEASANT-HEN [_In a sudden burst of tears._] Could you not forget the time, for once, if you saw me weeping? CHANTECLER No, I could not. THE PHEASANT-HEN Nothing, ever, can make you forget the time? CHANTECLER Nothing. I am conscious of darkness as too heavy a weight. THE PHEASANT-HEN You are conscious of darkness as--Shall I tell you the truth? You think you sing for the Dawn, but you sing in reality to be admired, you--songster, you! [_With contemptuous pity._] Is it possible you are not aware that your poor notes raise a smile right through the forest, accustomed to the fluting of the thrush? CHANTECLER I know, you are trying now to reach me through my pride, but-- THE PHEASANT-HEN I doubt if you can get so many as three toadstools and a couple of sassafras stalks to listen to you, when the ardent oriole flings across the leafy gloom his melodious pir-piriol! THE WOODPECKER [_Reappearing._] From the Greek: Pure, _puros._ CHANTECLER No more from you, please! [_The_ WOODPECKER _hurriedly withdraws._] THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Insisting._] The echo must make some rather interesting mental reservations, one fancies, when he hears you sing after hearing the great Nightingale! CHANTECLER [_Turning to leave._] My nerves, my dear girl, are not of the very steadiest to-night. THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Following._] Did you ever hear him? CHANTECLER Never. THE PHEASANT-HEN His song is so wonderful that the first time--[_She stops short, struck by an idea._] Oh! CHANTECLER What is it? THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Aside._] Ah, you feel the weight of the darkness--