THE GRAND-DUKE
[Thrilled.] And do you believe that a cock-fight—?

SCOPS
Such is my fond hope.

THE CAT
But listen, Scops.  Suppose Chantecler should win?

SCOPS
Know, Angora, that there will be among those fancy cocks a genuine
game-cock, lean, with tawny wing, the same who—­

THE BLACKBIRD [Seeing the OWLS puff out their feathers for joy.] Sensation among the audience!

SCOPS The same who has defeated the most famous champions—­the White Pile.  And as this victor in Flemish and English encounters wears at his heels, for the defter dispatching of his enemy, two razors fastened there by the ingenuity of man, by tomorrow night Chantecler will be dead, and his eyes picked out of their sockets.

THE SCREECH-OWL
[Enthusiastically.] We will go and gloat over his corpse!

THE GRAND-DUKE [Risen to his full height, formidable.] And his comb, which looked above his forehead like an incarnate bit of scarlet dawn, we will take his comb,—­our dearest dream at length fulfilled!—­and we will eat it!

ALL [With a yell, which ends in their ferocious cackling and rocking.] And we will eat it,—­eat it, ha, ha!

THE GRAND-DUKE
[Spreading his wings.] Hush! [Dead silence.]

SCOPS
And after that—­

THE BLACKBIRD
[Hopping.] It’s quite a tidy proposition as it stands—­

SCOPS
What?

THE BLACKBIRD Your scheme!  By Jingo, if I were the sort of bird to take things solemnly, I would go straight to the Cock and tell him.  But I will do nothing of the sort. [He concludes, with four little hops.] For I know—­that all this—­will turn out—­beautifully!

SCOPS [Ironically.] Beautifully indeed! [He continues in growing excitement.] And after that, if those absurd Cocks of far-fetched breeds have not by to-morrow evening gone back to their cages, we will eat them all, no longer good for anything!

THE GRAND-DUKE [In his neighbour’s ear.] And after that we will eat the Blackbird for dessert.

THE BLACKBIRD
[Who has not caught the last sentence.] What did he say?

SCOPS [Quickly.] Nothing! [In a still increasing frenzy of glee.] And after that—­

[In the distance:  Cock-a-doodle-doo!  Instant silence. SCOPS_ stops short and collapses, as if mown down.  All the puffed OWLS appear suddenly to have grown thin._]

ALL [Looking at one another and blinking.] What is it?  What was that? [They hastily spread their wings and call to one another for flight.] Grand-Duke!  Minor!  Minimus!

THE BLACKBIRD [Hopping from one to the other.] Going?  So soon?  Why, what’s your hurry?

VOICE
[Of one of the NIGHT-BIRDS calling to another.] Nyctalis!

THE BLACKBIRD
It’s hours before daybreak.  Oceans of time, you have!