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?