CHANTECLER
What are you mumbling to your brass-studded collar?

PATOU
—­some Hen may get you too to go!

CHANTECLER
Me?

PATOU
You!

CHANTECLER
Me?—­

PATOU
Led by the end of your beak.

CHANTECLER
[In high wrath.] Me?—­

PATOU
For when a new Hen heaves in sight, you can’t help yourself, you
know—­you lose your balance-wheel—­

THE BLACKBIRD
You slowly circumambulate the fair one—­[He imitates the COCK walking
around a HEN.] “Yes, it’s me.—­Here I am!” And you say, “Coa—­”

CHANTECLER
I never knew a more idiotic bird!

THE BLACKBIRD [Continuing to mimic him.] You let your wing hang, sentimentally—­your foot performs a sort of stately jig—­[A shot is heard.] Ha!  I don’t like that!

PATOU [Starts up quivering, and scents the air.] Poaching Julius is at his tricks again!

THE BLACKBIRD
Dog, it seems to stimulate you agreeably!

PATOU [With ears up-pricked and shining eyes.] Yes! [Suddenly, as if controlling himself, passionately.] No—!

THE BLACKBIRD
What affects you so?

PATOU
Oh, horrible, horrible!  A poor little partridge perhaps—­

THE BLACKBIRD
Is that streaming eye, my friend, a result of age or rheumatism?

PATOU Neither!  But I have within me several dogs, and there is conflict amidst me.  My hunter’s nostril twitches at a shot, but, directly, my house-dog’s memory raises before me a bleeding wing, the glazing eye of a doe, the pathos of a rabbit’s dying look—­and I feel the heart of a Saint Bernard waking in my breast! [Another shot.]

CHANTECLER
Again?

SCENE FIFTH

THE SAME, A GOLDEN PHEASANT, later BRIFFAUT.

A GOLDEN PHEASANT [Flying suddenly over the wall, and dropping in the yard, mad with fright.] Hide me!

CHANTECLER
Heavens!

PATOU
A golden pheasant!

GOLDEN PHEASANT
Is this great Chantecler?

THE BLACKBIRD
All over the shop, we’re famous!

GOLDEN PHEASANT
[Running hither and thither.] Save me, if you are he!

CHANTECLER
I am!—­Rely on me!

[Another shot.]

GOLDEN PHEASANT
[Jumping and casting himself on CHANTECLER.] Merciful powers!

CHANTECLER
But what a nervous bird it is—­a golden pheasant!

GOLDEN PHEASANT
I have no breath left!  I ran too hard!-[Faints.]

THE BLACKBIRD
Puff!—­Out goes his light!

CHANTECLER [Upholding the PHEASANT with one wing.] How beautiful he is, with drooping neck and softly ruffled throat-feathers! [He runs to the drinking-trough.] Water!—­One almost hesitates to dim such beauty with a wetting—­[He splashes him vigorously with his other wing.]