JEAN. There spoke the royal blood! Bravo, Miss Julia! Now you put the miller back in his sack!
[CHRISTINE enters dressed for church and carrying n hymn-book in her hand.]
JULIA. [Hurries up to her and throws herself into her arms ax if seeking protection] Help me, Christine! Help me against this man!
CHRISTINE. [Unmoved and cold] What kind of performance is this on the Sabbath morning? [Catches sight of the chopping-block] My, what a mess you have made!—What's the meaning of all this? And the way you shout and carry on!
JULIA. You are a woman, Christine, and you are my friend. Beware of that scoundrel!
JEAN. [A little shy and embarrassed] While the ladies are discussing I'll get myself a shave. [Slinks out to the right.]
JULIA. You must understand me, and you must listen to me.
CHRISTINE. No, really, I don't understand this kind of trolloping. Where are you going in your travelling-dress—and he with his hat on—what?—What?
JULIA. Listen, Christine, listen, and I'll tell you everything—
CHRISTINE. I don't want to know anything—