Pierre.
Good! Well then, take a carriage at the station and drive home; throw yourself at his feet and tell him everything. Tell him, for all I care, that you hate me--that you loathe me--I don't mind--grovel before him until he raises you. And then all will be well!
Julia.
Ah, if it were possible!--It would be deliverance--it would be heaven! I should be safe once more--a human being!--I should see the sun again, instead of these streaks of light!--I should breathe the fresh air, instead of this musty odour of dead roses!--I shouldn't have to sink down, down into the filth!--I shouldn't have to be a bad woman--even if I am one!--There would be a respectable divorce--or perhaps merely a separation. For, I no longer dare hope to live with him as his wife, even if I were satisfied to be no better than his dog for the rest of my days!--Ah, but it cannot be! It cannot be! You don't know him. You don't know what he's like when the veins stand out on his forehead!--He would kill me!--Rather than that--kill me yourself!--Here--now--this moment!--Get your duelling pistols. Oh no! There--there--there are plenty of weapons! (She pulls at the weapons on the wall, several of which fall clattering upon the floor.) Swords--daggers--here! (Throws an armful on the chaise-longue.) They are rusty--but that doesn't matter.--Take one! Stab me first--then--do as you please!--Live if you can--do!--live as happily as you can! Your life is in your hands.
Pierre.
Yes--I dare say. Live!--But how? Where? (Sobs chokingly.)
Julia.
Come, then--we'll die together--together! (They sink into each other's arms and remain motionless in mute despair. After a time, Julia raises her head cautiously and looks about her.) Pierre!
Pierre (troubled).
Well?