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!