Julia.
Do, for goodness' sake, stop pitying yourself, and tell me what's to be done.
Pierre.
Haven't I told you?
Julia.
I'll not go away! I will not go away! He can't come in here! I will not leave this place!
Pierre.
Listen! I'll have a carriage here--at one o'clock in the night--behind the park wall. Take it as far as the station.--Listen, I tell you!
Julia.
No, no, no! As soon as I step into the street, I'm lost. And you, too! You don't know him! Gentle and tractable as he seems, when once he's angry, his blood boils over!--If I hadn't taken the cartridges out of his revolver in those days, he-- Why, I've seen him pick up two unmanageable boys on our place and swing them over his shoulder into the mill stream! And they would have been ground to pieces, too, if he hadn't braced himself against the shaft. Pierre, Pierre, never get into his way again. He's merciless!