Julia.
He was always jealous of you. When you sent the hothouse roses in April, he became suspicious. Ever since then, he has continually had the notion of an admirer in his head. That was the danger-signal! Pierre, if he surmised--then you would be the first--and I would come afterward! Pierre, if you drive me to desperation, I'll give you up to him!----
Pierre.
Are you mad?
Julia.
I'll write him a letter something like this: "If you want to find the traces of my flight, search the rubbish heap behind the lover's pavilion. Search for the faded petals of the roses upon which, night after night, Pierre and I celebrated our union. Search the highway for the bloody prints of my bare feet after he turned me out. Then search the dregs of the brothels where I found a refuge. And then--then avenge me!"
Pierre.
You'll do nothing of the kind, you-- (Seizes her by the wrists.)
Julia (laughing).
Nonsense! You have no strength! (Disengages herself without difficulty.)