BEPPO. But he has killed my thrushes; the thrushes I brought thee! Look! MONSEIGNEUR (_as he takes the nest_). So much the better. They will be all ready for me to play with—in heaven. BEPPO (_crying with rage_). I did not bring them for thee to play with in heaven; but here, with me. MONSEIGNEUR. Perhaps they have only swooned, as I did just now. Take them, Beppo, place them in the sunshine, by the window. It is very likely they will recover. BEPPO (_whimpering_). Nay, I know they are dead. But, by Heaven, they shall be revenged! MONSEIGNEUR. Beppo! BEPPO (_as he places the nest in the sun on the window-ledge_). I will lie in wait for their murderer; and one night when he is crawling about the streets—like an old cat in the dusk, as I have so often seen him—I will creep up behind, and I will stab him in the back. MONSEIGNEUR (_struggling to rise_). In the back? Beppo! Dost thou think that the action of a knight? BEPPO. I am not a knight, but, like my mother, a gipsy, and I will stab him where I can. MONSEIGNEUR (_feebly, on the edge of the bed_). Help me. Help me to the chair. BEPPO (_as he helps him down off the bed, and into the Nurse’s chair_). One—two—three! So! (_Laughing._) Why, one would say thou wert drunk! MONSEIGNEUR (_with a wan little smile_). Nay, Beppo! (_and lies back in the chair with closed eyes._) BEPPO. Ah! Listen! MONSEIGNEUR (_languidly_). Well? BEPPO. In the courtyard! (_Running to the open window, he looks out._) Philippe! Cannon! The courtyard is full of cannon. MONSEIGNEUR. I know. I ordered it. BEPPO. But is there some attack? The Comte de Poix? Already? MONSEIGNEUR. One never knows. The times are troublous. BEPPO. But who will lead them, if thou art so ill? MONSEIGNEUR (_smiles_). Why not thou? My brother? BEPPO (_radiant_). To battle? Philippe! MONSEIGNEUR. Sit, Beppo, and I will give thee charge. Sit at my feet here, like a scholar, and I will teach thee. BEPPO. Monseigneur Philippe! (_And looks up at him, breathless with interest, admiration, and attention._) Go on now; teach me! I am ready. MONSEIGNEUR (_gently_). Thou knowest thou art my brother? (_As BEPPO nods._) Who has told thee? BEPPO (_laughs_). Everyone. MONSEIGNEUR. Not in scorn? BEPPO. Nay! They know better. MONSEIGNEUR. My mother was a wronged lady, Beppo. BEPPO. So was mine. Yet she never complained. She was too proud. MONSEIGNEUR. Where is she now? BEPPO. She is dead. MONSEIGNEUR. Ah? BEPPO. They killed her. MONSEIGNEUR. Killed her? BEPPO. The tribe. They said she had disgraced them. She was a princess. MONSEIGNEUR. Then thou art indeed alone in the world, Beppo; for thy father, thy father and mine, is dead, too. BEPPO (_stoutly_). I think it is a good thing to be alone in the world. One is all the stronger. MONSEIGNEUR. To be hungry? Homeless? Friendless? Is that to be stronger? BEPPO. It seems so. Am not I stronger than thou? MONSEIGNEUR (_sighs_). Indeed!