(Hesitating, with an apprehensive glance toward Wittich.) Outwardly--yes, Julia, dear.
Wittich (losing control of himself).
So that's your condition, is it?
Julia (with a sort of nervous impudence).
Yes, that's our condition--isn't it, Pierre, dear? (Pierre does not reply, but looks at Wittich.)
Wittich.
Really?--Really!--Very well! (He draws himself to his full height, his face flushes, and he looks around the room wildly, as if searching for something.)
Julia.
What are you looking for, George?
Wittich.