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 countsif—
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.]
JULIA. Leave me alone! In that way you cannot win me.
JEAN. How then?—Not in that way! Not by caresses and sweet words!
Not by thought for the future, by escape from disgrace! How then?