SERGIUS.
(grinning a little). He does, he does. Swiss civilization nursetending Bulgarian barbarism, eh?
BLUNTSCHLI.
(blushing). Not at all, I assure you. I’m only very glad to get you two quieted. There now, let’s be pleasant and talk it over in a friendly way. Where is this other young lady?
RAINA.
Listening at the door, probably.
SERGIUS.
(shivering as if a bullet had struck him, and speaking with quiet but deep indignation). I will prove that that, at least, is a calumny. (He goes with dignity to the door and opens it. A yell of fury bursts from him as he looks out. He darts into the passage, and returns dragging in Louka, whom he flings against the table, R., as he cries) Judge her, Bluntschli—you, the moderate, cautious man: judge the eavesdropper.
(Louka stands her ground, proud and silent.)
BLUNTSCHLI.
(shaking his head). I mustn’t judge her. I once listened myself outside a tent when there was a mutiny brewing. It’s all a question of the degree of provocation. My life was at stake.
LOUKA.
My love was at stake. (Sergius flinches, ashamed of her in spite of himself.) I am not ashamed.
RAINA.
(contemptuously). Your love! Your curiosity, you mean.
LOUKA.
(facing her and retorting her contempt with interest). My love, stronger than anything you can feel, even for your chocolate cream soldier.
SERGIUS.
(with quick suspicion—to Louka). What does that mean?