THE PHEASANT-HEN [Exasperated.] Will you stop thinking of the light of day, and think only of the light in my eyes?

CHANTECLER I shall never forget, however, that there was a morning when we believed equally in my Destiny, and that in the radiant hour of dawning love you forgot, and allowed me to forget, your gold for the gold of the Dawn!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
The Dawn!  Always the Dawn!  Be careful, Chantecler I shall do something
rash! [Going toward the Back.]

CHANTECLER
You will infallibly do as you like.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
In the glade not long ago I met the—­[She catches herself and stops
short, intentionally.]

CHANTECLER [Looks at her, and in an angry cry.] The Pheasant? [With sudden violence.] Promise me that you will never again go to the glade!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Assured of her power over him, with a bound returns to his side.] And you, promise that you will love me more than the Light!

CHANTECLER
[Sorrowfully.] Oh!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
That you will not sing—­

CHANTECLER
More than one song, we have settled that point. [Rat-tat-tat, from the
WOODPECKER.] Come in!

THE WOODPECKER [Appearing and pointing with his bill at the net.] The snare!  The farmer placed it there.  He declared he would capture the Pheasant-hen.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
He flatters himself!

THE WOODPECKER
And that he would keep you on his farm.

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Indignant.] Alive? [To CHANTECLER, in a tone of reproach.] Your farm!

CHANTECLER [Seeing a RABBIT who has returned to the edge of his hole.] Ah, there comes a Rabbit!

THE RABBIT [Showing the snare to the PHEASANT-HEN.] You know if you put your foot on that spring—­

THE PHEASANT-HEN [In a tone of superiority.] I know all about snares, my little man.  If you put your foot on that spring, the thing shuts.  I am afraid of nothing but dogs. [To CHANTECLER.] On your farm, which you secretly yearn for.

CHANTECLER
[In a voice of injured innocence.] I?

THE PHEASANT-HEN [To the RABBIT, giving him a light tap with her wing to send him home.] Afraid of nothing but dogs.  And since you put me in mind of it, I think I must go and perplex their noses, by tangling my tracks all among the grass and underwoods.

CHANTECLER
That’s it, you go and fool the dogs!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Starts of, then returns.] You are homesick for that wretched old farm of yours?

CHANTECLER I?  I? [She goes off.  He repeats indignantly.] I? [Watching her out of sight, then, dropping his voice, to the WOODPECKER.] She is not coming back, is she?

THE WOODPECKER
[Who from his high window in the tree can look off.] No.