f--

JULIA. That a human soul can be so steeped in dirt!

JEAN. Well, wash it off!

JULIA. You lackey, you menial, stand up when I talk to you!

JEAN. You lackey-love, you mistress of a menial--shut up and get
out of here! You're the right one to come and tell me that I am
vulgar. People of my kind would never in their lives act as
vulgarly as you have acted to-night. Do you think any servant girl
would go for a man as you did? Did you ever see a girl of my class
throw herself at anybody in that way? I have never seen the like of
it except among beasts and prostitutes.

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 m