Jean. One hundred and nine francs.
Bishop. How long did it take you to earn it?
Jean. Nineteen years.
Bishop (sadly). Nineteen years—the best part of your life!
Jean. Aye, the best part—I am now forty-six. A beast of burden would have earned more.
Bishop. This lamp gives a very bad light, sister.
[Mlle. gets the two silver candlesticks from the mantel, lights them, and places them on the table.]
Jean. Ah, but you are good! You don't despise me. You light your candles for me,—you treat me as a guest,—and I've told you where I come from, who I am!
Bishop. This house does not demand of him who enters whether he has a name, but whether he has a grief. You suffer—you are hungry—you are welcome.
Jean. I cannot understand it—