JEAN [Beginning to show sleepiness]. Er—er almost. I believe I read something of the sort in a newspaper about a chimney-sweep who made a death bed for himself of syringa blossoms in a wood-bin—[laughs] because they were going to arrest him for non-support of his children.
JULIE. So you are such a—
JEAN. What better could I have hit on! One must always be romantic to capture a woman.
JULIE. Wretch! Now you have seen the eagle's back, and I suppose I am to be the first limb—
JEAN. And the limb is rotten—
JULIE [Without seeming to hear]. And I am to be the hotel's signboard—
JEAN. And I the hotel—
JULIE. And sit behind the desk and allure guests and overcharge them—
JEAN. Oh, that'll be my business.
JULIE. That a soul can be so degraded!