BEPPO. Yea, I dare! (_With fear in his heart, he marches boldly to the hanging and swiftly withdraws it, the iron rings rattling and rippling sharply backwards along the rod; and behold! the wall of the corridor that faces them appears wondrously illuminated and transfigured into the faint vision of a chapel; and there on a throne, under the dim high altar, the Angel of Death is seated, an austere and lonely figure, just visible under the mild and steady gleam of many a tall candle and hanging sanctuary lamp. There he sits waiting, as though the youthful Michelangelo had carved him there, with the dreadful dart!—And BEPPO sees it and screams._) Monseigneur Death! Nay, take me—I beseech thee! Take me—in my brother’s place. I am useless, friendless—a gipsy!—a vagabond! MONSEIGNEUR. Nay, Beppo! I am still the duke here, and I do not permit it. It is for me he has come. BEPPO. Philippe! MONSEIGNEUR. Out of my way, brother; wouldst disgrace me before Him? BEPPO. Philippe! (_And the little MONSEIGNEUR draws himself to his full height, and, as though proudly entering the court and presence of some great rival power, bravely steps some of the few paces still left him towards the faint line, on the other side of which, only that he must cross it, there lies he knows not what. Only this he knows, that neither rank, nor ermine, nor soldiers, nor cannon will now avail him. So he boldly demands of the Figure that seems to look at him so kindly, full in the face_:) MONSEIGNEUR. Thou wilt suffer me to kiss my brother first? To say good-bye? (_And as BEPPO still tries to hold him fast_:) Farewell, brother!—and remember! Nay, Beppo! (_And so he turns willingly towards the Angel, who now slowly rises to receive him._) BEPPO (_as he beats the air passionately with his hands_). Philippe! Don’t leave me! Beloved Philippe! MONSEIGNEUR. But see, Beppo! He knows my quality; after all, he rises to receive me! Ah, now—it is easy! See, Beppo; how easy it is! (_And the little MONSEIGNEUR passes into the Angel’s arms with a smile on his face and the happy laugh of a tired child who at last finds rest, and the vision fades; while BEPPO, with a desolating cry, tries to follow him, but his forces fail and he falls there in a swoon._ _The cry is so loud, so bitter, that the Nurse comes hurrying in._) NURSE (_angrily_). Who is it, screaming so? (_She sees BEPPO._) Ah! Monseigneur! See!—he has fainted! Doctor! (_as the Doctor and the Bishop come quickly in from the corridor._) Monseigneur! (_Then she sees it is not MONSEIGNEUR, but BEPPO._) Nay! it is⸺ BISHOP (_with authority_). Monseigneur! Beppo has gone. I saw him. This time he has run away—for good. NURSE (_puzzled_). Ah? (_As she helps the Doctor to carry BEPPO to the chair._) BISHOP (_gaily_). He is better, Doctor, is he not? The crisis hath passed; he will recover? DOCTOR (_doubtfully, bending over the inanimate BEPPO in the chair_). I think so—with care.