CHANTECLER
See, the burying beetle has already come.
PATOU
[_Gently withdrawing._] I will make believe I found nothing.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Watching the day break._] He has not noticed that night is nearly over.
CHANTECLER
[_Bending over the grasses which begin to stir about the dead bird._]
Insect, where the body has fallen, be swift to come and open the earth.
The funereal necrophaga are the only grave-diggers who never carry the
dead elsewhere, believing that the least sad, and the most fitting tomb,
is the very clay whereon one fell into the final sleep. [_To the funeral
insects, while the_ NIGHTINGALE _begins gently to sink into the
ground._] Piously dig his grave! Light lie the earth upon him!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Aside, looking at the horizon._] Over there--
CHANTECLER
Verily, verily, I say unto you, Bul-bul to-night shall see the Bird of
Paradise!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Aside._] The sky is turning white! [_A whistle is heard in the
distance._]
PATOU
[_To_ CHANTECLER.] I will come back. He is whistling me. [_Disappears._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Restlessly dividing her attention between the horizon and the_ COCK.]
How can I conceal from him--[_She moves tenderly toward_ CHANTECLER,
_opening her wings so as to hide the brightening East, and taking
advantage of his grief._] Come and weep beneath my wing! [_With a sob he
lays his head beneath the comforting wing which is quickly clapped over
him.
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