BEPPO (_laughs_). Why, then I might one day be duke. A droll duke; one that would need a deal of washing. Nay, I would not be duke, to be washed every day. (_Gravely._) But if duke I ever were—there are things I should know. (_With a wise nod._) Ah! MONSEIGNEUR. What things? BEPPO. About the poor, the hungry, the homeless, the old. It does not matter so much for me; I am young and can bear it. But the old!—To be old is dreadful; but to be old and hungry, in autumn without a roof, without a fire in winter! If I were duke, Philippe, dost thou know what I would do? (_As MONSEIGNEUR, lying back in the chair, feebly shakes his head._) In winter I would have all the old people here to live with me in the palace; feed them, and keep them warm. MONSEIGNEUR. Ah? And in summer? BEPPO. They should come here, too, and rest all day in the shade of the corridors, to keep them cool. And I would go about among them and fulfil all their wants, and make them laugh with my antics and gay stories. Not pity them! The poor do not like to be pitied. MONSEIGNEUR (_wearily_). Thou art very ignorant, Beppo. BEPPO. It is possible. Yet there are things I know one cannot learn from books. And of book-learning, Philippe, it seems to me that thou hast had too much. MONSEIGNEUR. How can one have too much, if one is one day to be duke? BEPPO (_laughs_). Nay! MONSEIGNEUR. Call me the Bishop, Beppo. BEPPO (_troubled_). The Bishop? But why? MONSEIGNEUR (_fretfully_). Call him. (_So BEPPO rises, grumbling and muttering, and goes to the oratory doorway._) BEPPO (_shouts ill-humouredly through the hangings_). Bishop of Langres! BISHOP (_as he enters_). Monseigneur? (_While BEPPO seizes the opportunity to steal away from them on tiptoe back to the open window and his birds’-nest. He almost screams with rapture to find that in the fresh air and broad, genial sunshine the nestlings are recovering, faintly stirring, ravenously opening their soft yellow beaks for food. Over them he is soon absorbed, touching them here and there and singing to them one of his many tuneful peasant songs._) MONSEIGNEUR. Bishop of Langres—I have a charge for thee, a sacred charge.—Beppo, my brother. BISHOP. Monseigneur? MONSEIGNEUR. Let him be taught. Only see to it, Bishop, that they do not try to teach him too much. Weary him not with lessons, as they have so often wearied me. BISHOP. And what would Monseigneur have him? A priest? MONSEIGNEUR. I would have him a soldier and a gentleman; a leader of men. Bad times are ahead of us, Bishop, and it is possible—that one day—(_he pauses, and then calls._) Beppo! (_But BEPPO is too absorbed to hear him._) BISHOP (_angrily_). Beppo! (_And BEPPO turns, startled, and on the Bishop’s gesture drags himself down to them unwillingly._) MONSEIGNEUR. Beppo, I have determined to⸺(_He pauses; then, puzzled, to the Bishop._) What was it? BISHOP. Assure his future.