CHANTECLER
You help me to sing better.  Come closer.  Collaborate.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Springing to his side.] I love you!

CHANTECLER
Every word you whisper in my ear shall be translated into sunshine for
all the world to see!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
I love you!

CHANTECLER
Say it again, and I will gild that mountain suddenly!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Wildly.] I love you!—­Let me see you gild it!

CHANTECLER [In his greatest, most splendid manner.] Cock-a-doodle-doo! [The mountain turns golden.]

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Pointing to the lower ranges, still purple.] But the hills?

CHANTECLER
Each in its turn.  To the highest peaks belong the earliest rays! 
Cock-a-doodle-doo!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Ah!—­across yonder drowsing slope a stealing gleam—­

CHANTECLER
[Joyously.] I dedicate it to you!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
The distant villages are coming into view.

CHANTECLER
Cock-a—­[His voice breaks.]

THE PHEASANT-HEN
You are weary!

CHANTECLER
[Stiffening himself.] I refuse to be! [Wildly.] Cock-a-doodle-doo!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Exhausted!

CHANTECLER
Do you see those tatters of mist still clinging?  Cock-a-doodle-doo!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
You will kill yourself!

CHANTECLER
I only live, dear, when I am killing myself giving great splendid cries!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Pressing close to his side.] I am proud of you!

CHANTECLER
[With emotion.] Your head bows—­

THE PHEASANT-HEN
I listen to the Day arising in your breast!  I delight to hear first in
your lungs what by-and-by will be purple and gold on the mountain sides!

CHANTECLER [While the little distant houses begin to smoke in the dawn.] I dedicate to you moreover those reawakened farmsteads.  Man offers trinkets, I—­wreaths and plumes of smoke!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Looking off.] I can see your work growing,—­growing in the distance.

CHANTECLER
[Looking at her.] I can see it in your eyes!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Over the meadows—­

CHANTECLER
On your throat—­[In a smothered voice.] Oh, it is exquisite!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
What?

CHANTECLER I am at once doing my duty, and making you more fair.  I am gilding my valley, while brightening your wing. [Tearing himself from love, and dashing toward the right.] But the shadow still fights all along the line of retreat.  There is much to be done over there!  Cock-a-doodle-doo!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Looking up at the sky.] Oh, look!

CHANTECLER [Looking too, sadly.] How can I prevent it?  The morning star is fading out!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [In a tone of regret for the little bright spark which the growing light must necessarily quench.] It is fading out—­