Monseigneur. Then thou art indeed alone in the world, Beppo; for thy father, thy father and mine, is dead, too.
Beppo (stoutly). I think it is a good thing to be alone in the world. One is all the stronger.
Monseigneur. To be hungry? Homeless? Friendless? Is that to be stronger?
Beppo. It seems so. Am not I stronger than thou?
Monseigneur (sighs). Indeed!
Beppo (patronisingly). If only they had let thee alone, Philippe; sent thee out hungry to play in the fields, sometimes to sleep there; kept thee away from that foolish book-learning; thou would’st not be so weak and languid. So childish! Thou would’st be strong like me. Strong as a mule!
Monseigneur (tearfully). Thou art a knave to say I am childish—a knave!—and when I am well again⸺
Beppo (boastfully). See, Philippe, how strong I am, and how active. See how I can jump! (As he jumps on to the settle by the fireplace, and vaults over the back.) Holà, there! Holà! And I can dance—and run—and swim!
Monseigneur (feebly and vindictively, drawing his dagger). If I could only reach thee—with my dagger!
Beppo. And I can fight, too! (Laughing.) Why, thou dost not even hold thy weapon rightly. See, Philippe, it is so!—the point upwards! Not so! That is how women fight, with bodkins. This is how men fight. (Stabbing at an imaginary foe.) Ha! Thou rapscallion! Thou mountebank! I will show thee!