Pierre.
You've taken it out of me, you beast!
Julia.
Beast?--You've been muttering that word now for a couple of days. This is the first time that you have flung it in my face.--What have I done that was bestial except to throw my young life at your feet?--And so this is the end of our rose-fête?----
Pierre (in a low voice, breathing with difficulty).
No, not yet--the end is still to come!
Julia.
I dare say.
Pierre.
In fact--you must--leave here.