PATOU [_With quivering ear._] And singing still better, if possible. THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Looking up in a sort of terror at the foliage, and then down at the little grave._] Another takes up the song when this one disappears? THE VOICE In the forest must always be a Nightingale! CHANTECLER [_With exaltation._] And in the soul a faith so faithful that it comes back even after it has been slain. THE PHEASANT-HEN But if the Sun is climbing up the sky? CHANTECLER There must have been left in the air some power from my yesterday’s song. [_Flights of noiseless grey wings pass among the trees._] THE OWLS [_Hooting joyfully._] He kept still! PATOU [_Raising his head and looking after them._] The Owls, fleeing from the newly risen light, are coming home to the woods. THE OWLS [_Returning to their holes in the old trees._] He kept still! CHANTECLER [_With all his strength come back to him._] The proof that I was serving the cause of light when I sang is that the Owls are glad of my silence. [_Going to the_ PHEASANT-HEN, _with defiance in his mien._] I make the Dawn appear, and I do more than that! THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Choking._] You do-- CHANTECLER On grey mornings, when poor creatures waking in the twilight dare not believe in the day, the bright copper of my song takes the place of the sun! [_Turning to go._] Back to our work! THE PHEASANT-HEN But how find courage to work after doubting the work’s value? CHANTECLER Buckle down to work! THE PHEASANT-HEN [_With angry stubbornness._] But if you have nothing whatever to do with making the morning? CHANTECLER Then I am just the Cock of a remoter Sun! My cries so affect the night that it lets certain beams of the day pierce through its black tent, and those are what we call the stars. I shall not live to see shining upon the steeples that final total light composed of stars clustered in unbroken mass; but if I sing faithfully and sonorously and if, long after me, and long after that, in every farmyard its Cock sings faithfully, sonorously, I truly believe there will be no more night! THE PHEASANT-HEN When will that be? CHANTECLER One Day! THE PHEASANT-HEN Go, go, and forget our forest! CHANTECLER No, I shall never forget the noble green forest where I learned that he who has witnessed the death of his dream must either die at once or else arise stronger than before. THE PHEASANT-HEN [_In a voice which she does her best to make insulting._] Go and get into your hen-house by the way of a ladder. CHANTECLER The birds have taught me that I can use my wings to go in. THE PHEASANT-HEN Go and see your old Hen in her old broken basket. CHANTECLER Ah, forest of the Toads, forest of the Poacher, forest of the Nightingale, and of the Pheasant-hen, when my old peasant mother sees me home again, back from your green recesses where pain is so interwoven with love, what will she say? PATOU [_Imitating the_ OLD HEN’S _affectionate quaver._] How that Chick has grown!