SCHÖN. How many girls would deem themselves God knows how blessed in your situation.
LULU. (Softly pleading.) Seduce him. Corrupt him. You know how. Take him into bad company—you know the people. I am nothing to him but a woman, just woman. He makes me feel so ridiculous. He will be prouder of me. He doesn't know any differences. I'm thinking my head off, day and night, how to shake him up. In my despair I dance the can-can. He yawns; and drivels something about obscenity.
SCHÖN. Nonsense. He is an artist, though.
LULU. At least he believes he is.
SCHÖN. That's the chief thing!
LULU. When I pose for him.... He believes, too, that he's a famous man.
SCHÖN. We have made him one.
LULU. He believes everything. He's as mistrustful as a thief, and lets himself be lied to, till one loses all respect! When we first knew each other I informed him I had never yet loved— (Schön falls into an easy-chair.) Otherwise he would really have taken me for a fallen woman!
SCHÖN. You make God knows what exorbitant demands on legitimate relations!
LULU. I make no exorbitant demands. Often I even dream still of Goll.