Nérisse. Will you always be angry? Is it quite impossible for us to be friends? I am constantly giving you proofs of my friendship. I've done two things for you quite lately. The first was that letter to the editor you're going to see to-morrow, and the second is what I've done now with our new backer. It's this. They wanted to sack you or to offer you humiliating conditions. I said if you didn't stay I wouldn't stay either. I gave in on other points to get my way about this. I shall have their final answer to-morrow, and I know I shall succeed if I stick to my point.
Thérèse. But what right had you to do such a thing? We agreed to forget altogether that you had dared to make love to me. D'you really not understand how that makes it impossible I should ever accept either assistance or protection from you?
Nérisse. I have still the right to love you in secret.
Thérèse. Indeed you have not, and you've kept your secret precious badly. Madame Nérisse suspects, and I can see quite well that she's jealous of me. I owe her a great deal; she gave me my first start and got me my place here. I wouldn't make her unhappy for anything in the world. As soon as she hears of what you've done what d'you suppose she'll think?
Nérisse. I don't care a rap what she thinks.
Thérèse. But I care very much. You've compromised me seriously.
Nérisse [sincerely contemptuous] Compromised you! Aha, yes, there's the word! Oh, you middle class girls! Always the same! What are you doing here then? What d'you know about life? Nothing. Compromised! Then all your dreams of elevating humanity, all your ambitions, your career, the realization of yourself—you'll give up all that before you'll be what you describe by that stupid, imbecile, middle class word, compromised. When you shook yourself free of your family you behaved like a capable woman. Now you're behaving and thinking like a fashionable doll. Isn't that true? I appeal to your intelligence, to your mind, to everything in you that lifts you out of the ordinary ruck. Your precious word compromised is only the twaddle of a countrified miss. Don't you see that yourself?
Thérèse [very much out of countenance] Ah, if I were only certain that you are hiding nothing behind your friendship and your sympathy!
Nérisse [with perfectly genuine indignation] Hiding? You said hiding? Is that what you throw in my face? You insult me? What d'you take me for?
Thérèse. I beg your pardon.