DOCTOR. Passing rapidly, even beyond my skill! (_So he goes to the fire, and stirs it ill-humouredly to an even more furious activity._) BISHOP. Already? (_Murmurs._) Then we must make haste. (_Meanwhile the Nurse, as a hot little hand returns the drinking cup through the bed-curtains, softly asks_:) NURSE. Is that better? (_To which the sick child within makes inarticulate, fretful reply. So she closes the curtains again tightly._) Try now to go to sleep again, and you will wake up quite well. (_Soothingly._) Quite well! (_Then, with a profound obeisance to the Bishop, she goes to the table at the foot of the bed and replaces the cup among the many, many medicine bottles and phials of drugs; while outside, in the sunshine of the corridor, BEPPO chants tunefully and joyously over his birds’-nest._) BEPPO. Mon-seig-neur! (_He looks up startled as both Nurse and Doctor make angry, violent gestures towards him of ‘’Ssh! ’Ssh!’, and then at his good friend, the Bishop, wondering what wrong it is he has done. A slight pause, while no sound comes from the bed. Then the Nurse goes up to him, beckoning him angrily, and once he is within the chamber draws the heavy hangings again over the corridor entrance._) NURSE (_in an angry whisper_). Bawling and singing, like a drunken gipsy! BEPPO (_faces her with an engaging smile_). Mind my pretty nestlings. (_And chants over them, softly and melodiously._) They are for Mon-seig-neur! NURSE (_in his face, sharply_). ’Ssh! Vagabond! BEPPO (_while the Nurse goes to the bed and peeps through the curtains, chants again very softly over his birds’-nest_). For Mon-seig-neur! NURSE (_turns towards them and whispers_). He is just off again. Fast asleep. (_So she sits and resumes her sewing at the foot of the bed, while the Bishop also glances through the curtains, and BEPPO, always absorbed over the birds’-nest, goes to show it to the Doctor._) BISHOP (_with a heavy sigh_). The last of his race! It would have killed his father. (_Pause._) BEPPO. Doctor Mabrise! Look! DOCTOR. What are they? BEPPO. Young thrushes. I found them this morning, in a great lilac-bush, below the Black Dog bastion. See! There are five. DOCTOR (_gloomily_). They will die. BEPPO. In this hot chamber? Ah! Before Monseigneur can even see them? _Malheur!_ (_As if at once to take them into the open air._) BISHOP. Beppo! (_BEPPO pauses and looks up at him with a smile._) My poor boy! Thou art seeming very ragged and dirty this morning. BEPPO. Truly? (_As he looks himself over._) BISHOP. If thou art to play once more with Monseigneur, we must have thee washed. BEPPO (_troubled_). Washed? BISHOP. It will not hurt thee; it may even do thee some good. Nurse! Take our young friend here and wash him. Wash him well! NURSE (_pleased with the commission, rises_). Ah! BEPPO. Not with soap? NURSE (_menacingly_). With soap and with pumice-stone. Come!