MONSEIGNEUR. Since one day—a long time ago—when I was quite a child, and my father and my mother were quarrelling. BISHOP. So? MONSEIGNEUR. It seems, Messire, that when people quarrel—even before their own children—they will tell each other unpleasant truths. BISHOP (_nods, gravely_). Sometimes. MONSEIGNEUR. So it was that my mother told my father he ought to be ashamed of himself. He had so many little bastards. BISHOP (_shocked, with raised hands_). Monseigneur! MONSEIGNEUR. I did not understand. I had never heard the word. Therefore, one day I asked Lorrain, the big man-at-arms⸺ (_Pauses._) BISHOP. And he told your lordship? MONSEIGNEUR. He told me nothing. He only laughed. So did my father, when my mother charged him.—Aie! how well I remember! BISHOP. But _Madame la Duchesse_, your mother? She did not laugh? MONSEIGNEUR (_simply_). Not at all. She was very angry. She said it was a scandal; particularly, with poor Beppo. Do you know why, Bishop? (_Confidentially._) Because it seems he was born on the same day, the very same day, as I. Yet, somehow, she was not his mother. That was why she was so angry, I suppose? BISHOP. Very likely. (_Pause, while the Doctor, after exchanging glances with the Bishop, resumes his seat by the fire_). MONSEIGNEUR. Bishop! BISHOP. Monseigneur? MONSEIGNEUR. Do you think that if I gave my brother Beppo money—a great deal of money—he would die instead of me? Do you think the good God would mind? BISHOP (_guardedly_). It would be difficult. MONSEIGNEUR (_proudly_). After all, the good God is my cousin. Dukes are all cousins of the Almighty God, Bishop. Are they not? BISHOP. They very often make the claim, Monseigneur. I do not know whether it has ever been allowed. MONSEIGNEUR (_with dignity_). At least, Messire, I trust that in heaven I shall keep my proper rank? I shall not be required to mix with all the common people? BISHOP. Common people, Monseigneur? It is not the common people, believe me, who rise to heaven at all. Indeed, one must have uncommon qualities!⸺ MONSEIGNEUR (_eagerly_). And then my fine clothes; my ermine and my velvet? Doubtless I shall be allowed to wear them? BISHOP. Alas, my child, in heaven there are no distinctions; neither of rank nor of clothes. Sometimes I doubt whether even the sacred order of Bishops⸺ MONSEIGNEUR (_angrily_). Then what good to me is my birth? If I am to keep neither my rank nor my clothes, if I am not to be treated with proper respect, I might as well be Beppo! I will not die! I will not! I will not! BISHOP. Monseigneur! MONSEIGNEUR (_leaning on his elbow, screams_,) Lorrain! Lorrain! (_And while the Bishop rises, LORRAIN, the big man-at-arms, comes clanking in through the hangings from the corridor._) LORRAIN (_hoarsely_). Monseigneur? MONSEIGNEUR. Lorrain—listen! I have a duty for thee—at once!—a solemn duty! LORRAIN. Name it, Monseigneur. It shall be done.