MONSEIGNEUR (_feverishly_). Lorrain—thou knowest Death, dost thou not? Thou hast often seen him? LORRAIN. Death and I have often looked at each other, Monseigneur—many times!—straight in the eyes. I know him well. MONSEIGNEUR. Good! Then take thy comrades, Lorrain—forty, fifty of thy stoutest men-at-arms—my Lansquenets! Post them at every door of this my palace; and if Death tries to enter, tell them to fire on him and kill him. My strictest orders! LORRAIN. Monseigneur, it shall be done. He shall not enter. We ourselves will die first. (_Salutes and is going._) MONSEIGNEUR (_faintly, as he lies back_). And, Lorrain⸺ LORRAIN. Monseigneur? MONSEIGNEUR. Fill the courtyard with cannon. Our new cannon. The villain might come on horseback—and try to storm—the great staircase. LORRAIN (_gravely_). Monseigneur, before Death enters the palace precincts, either on horseback or on foot, we will fire all the _grosses pièces_ on him and blow him back to hell. It shall be done! (_Whereupon MONSEIGNEUR, lying back on the pillows with closed eyes, makes a feeble little gesture of dismissal, and LORRAIN salutes and disappears. From outside in the corridor is heard the clank of armour; then LORRAIN’S hoarse voice ‘En avant, la garde! Mar-r-chez!’—while the Bishop returns to the bedside._) BISHOP (_whispers_). Doctor! (_As the Doctor joins him and feels the child’s pulse._) How much longer? DOCTOR. _Moriturus!_⸺Perhaps an hour. BISHOP. Ah! DOCTOR. If your miracle is to succeed!⸺ BISHOP. Beppo is coming. Let us leave them alone together. Come, Doctor, come. DOCTOR. And the miracle? The famous miracle! BISHOP. We shall see. Only give them time. Come. DOCTOR (_with a scornful shrug_). Time? (_So they go out into the corridor, and after a pause BEPPO enters, washed and combed, smartly dressed in one of Monseigneur’s discarded suits, out of which he seems indeed to swell, it being somewhat too small for him, with pride and satisfaction. For it is the first time in all his life that he has worn anything but rags; and for the first time, also, he looks like what in fact he is, MONSEIGNEUR’S brother._) BEPPO (_as he swaggers gaily in_). Monseigneur enters! Monseigneur salutes with condescension the gay and gallant company assembled to welcome him! Monseigneur turns to the Court Physician, and in haughty tones⸺_Tiens!_ Where is the Court Physician? Doctor Mabrise? Where the plague have they put my birds’-nest? (_Screams._) Mabrise!—You old fool! (_Then he sees the nest on the ledge of the couvre-feu._) Ah! So near the fire? (_He jumps up on the footstool and takes the nest, while MONSEIGNEUR gradually recovers, and, raising himself on the pillows, watches him._) Dead! Every one of them dead! (_As he jumps off the footstool._) The wretch has killed my thrushes! My sweet, beautiful, living thrushes! _Ah, ça!_ (_As he draws his dagger_) Mabrise! Mabrise! (_and runs towards the corridor._) MONSEIGNEUR. Beppo!