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JULIA.
[Crushed]

That’s right: strike me, step on me–I haven’t deserved any better! I am a wretched creature. But help me! Help me out of this, if there be any way to do so!

JEAN.
[In a milder tone]

I don’t want to lower myself by a denial of my share in the honour of seducing. But do you think a person in my place would have dared to raise his eyes to you, if the invitation to do so had not come from yourself? I am still sitting here in a state of utter surprise–

JULIA.
And pride–

JEAN.
Yes, why not? Although I must confess that the victory was too easy to bring with it any real intoxication.

JULIA.
Strike me some more!

JEAN.
[Rising]

No! Forgive me instead what I have been saying. I don’t want to strike one who is disarmed, and least of all a lady. On one hand I cannot deny that it has given me pleasure to discover that what has dazzled us below is nothing but cat-gold; that the hawk is simply grey on the back also; that there is powder on the tender cheek; that there may be black borders on the polished nails; and that the handkerchief may be dirty, although it smells of perfume. But on the other hand it hurts me to have discovered that what I was striving to reach is neither better nor more genuine. It hurts me to see you sinking so low that you are far beneath your own cook–it hurts me as it hurts to see the Fall flowers beaten down by the rain and turned into mud.

JULIA.
You speak as if you were already above me?

JEAN.
Well, so I am. Don’t you see: I could have made a countess of you, but you could never make me a count.

JULIA.
But I am born of a count, and that’s more than you can ever achieve.

JEAN.
That’s true. But I might be the father of counts–if–

JULIA.
But you are a thief–and I am not.

JEAN.
Thief is not the worst. There are other kinds still farther down. And then, when I serve in a house, I regard myself in a sense as a member of the family, as a child of the house, and you don’t call it theft when children pick a few of the berries that load down the vines.

[His passion is aroused once more]
Miss Julia, you are a magnificent woman, and far too good for one like me. You were swept along by a spell of intoxication, and now you want to cover up your mistake by making yourself believe that you are in love with me. Well, you are not, unless possibly my looks might tempt you—in which case your love is no better than mine. I could never rest satisfied with having you care for nothing in me but the mere animal, and your love I can never win.

JULIA.
Are you so sure of that?

JEAN.
You mean to say that it might be possible? That I might love you: yes, without doubt–for you are beautiful, refined,

[goes up to her and takes hold of her hand]
educated, charming when you want to be so, and it is not likely that the flame will ever burn out in a man who has once been set of fire by you. [Puts his arm around her waist] You are like burnt wine with strong spices in it, and one of your kisses–

[He tries to lead her away, but she frees herself gently from his hold.]