THE GOLDEN PHEASANT
[Coming to.] I am pursued!  Oh, hide me!

THE BLACKBIRD
“And the villain still—­” Here’s melodrama!

[To the PHEASANT.] How the dickens did he manage to miss you?

THE PHEASANT Surprise!—­The huntsman was looking for a little grey lark.  Seeing me rise, he cried, “Thunder!” He saw but a flash of gold, and I a flash of fire.—­But the dog is chasing me, a horrible dog—­[Seeing PATOU he quickly adds.] I am speaking of a hunting-dog! [To CHANTECLER.] Hide me!

CHANTECLER The trouble is he is so conspicuous.  That increases our dilemma.  Where can he lie concealed?—­Gentle sir, my lord, most noble stranger, where might we hope to hide the rainbow, supposing it in danger?

PATOU There by the bench with the beehives stands my green cottage, very much at your service.—­Go in, I pray! [The GOLDEN PHEASANT goes in, but his long tail projects.] There is too much of this golden vanity!—­The tip is still in sight.—­I shall have to sit on it.

[BRIFFAUT appears above the wall.  Long hanging ears and quivering chops.]

PATOU
[To BRIFFAUT, affecting unconcern.] Good afternoon!

BRIFFAUT
[Snuffing.] Humph, what a good smell!

PATOU
[Pointing to his bowl.] My poor dinner!  Soup with seasonable vegetables.

BRIFFAUT
[Hurriedly.] Have you seen a pheasant-hen go by?

PATOU
[In astonishment, reflecting.] A pheasant-hen,—?

CHANTECLER
[Walking about, with an assumption of gaiety.] Impressive, isn’t he,
Briffaut there? with his look of a thoroughbred old Englishman!

PATOU
No, but I saw a pheasant.

BRIFFAUT
That was she!

PATOU
A pheasant-hen wears dun.  This was a golden pheasant He went off towards
the meadow.

BRIFFAUT
It is she!

CHANTECLER
[Going towards him, incredulous.] A pheasant-hen with golden plumage?

BRIFFAUT
Ah, you do not know what sometimes happens?

CHANTECLER and PATOU
No.

THE BLACKBIRD
We are in for a hunting yarn!—­Give me chloroform!

BRIFFAUT It sometimes happens—­the thing is exceptional, of course—­My master knows because he has read about it.—­It sometimes happens—­An extraordinary phenomenon to be sure! which is likewise observed among moor-fowl.—­It happens—­

PATOU
What happens?

BRIFFAUT
That the pheasant-hen—­Ah, my dear fellows—!

CHANTECLER
[Stamping with impatience.] The pheasant-hen what?—­what?

BRIFFAUT Makes up her mind one day that the cock-pheasant goes altogether too fine.  When the male in springtime puts on his holiday feathers, she sees that he is handsomer than she—­

THE BLACKBIRD
And it makes her sore!