_] Go and get
into your hen-house by the way of a ladder.
CHANTECLER
The birds have taught me that I can use my wings to go in.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Go and see your old Hen in her old broken basket.
CHANTECLER
Ah, forest of the Toads, forest of the Poacher, forest of the
Nightingale, and of the Pheasant-hen, when my old peasant mother sees me
home again, back from your green recesses where pain is so interwoven
with love, what will she say?
PATOU
[_Imitating the_ OLD HEN'S _affectionate quaver._] How that Chick has
grown!
CHANTECLER
[_Emphatically._] Of course she will! [_Turning to leave._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN
He is going! When faithless they turn to leave, oh, that we had arms,
arms to hold them fast,--but we have only wings!
CHANTECLER
[_Stops short and looks at her, troubled._] She weeps?
PATOU
[_Hastily, pushing him along with his paw._] Hurry up!
CHANTECLER
[_To_ PATOU.] Wait a moment.
PATOU
I am willing. Nothing can sit so patiently and watch the dropping of
tears as an old dog.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Crying to_ CHANTECLER, _with a leap toward him._] Take me with you!
CHANTECLER
[_Turns and in an inflexible voice._] Will you consent to stand second
to the Dawn?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Fiercely drawing back._] Never!
CHANTECLER
Then farewell!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
I hate you!
CHANTECLER
[_Already at some distance among the brush.
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