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.