Bishop. This house is home to the man who needs a refuge. So, sir, this is your house now more than it is mine. Whatever is here is yours. What need have I to know your name? Besides, before you told me, I knew it.
Jean. What! You knew my name!
Bishop. Yes, your name is—Brother.
Jean. Stop! I cannot bear it—you are so good—
[He buries his face in his hands.]
[Enter Madame with dishes for the table; she continues passing in and out, preparing supper.]
Bishop. You have suffered much, sir—
Jean (nodding). The red shirt, the ball on the ankle, a plank to sleep on, heat, cold, toil, the whip, the double chain for nothing, the cell for one word—even when sick in bed, still the chain! Dogs, dogs are happier! Nineteen years! and now the yellow passport!
Bishop. Yes, you have suffered.
Jean (with violence). I hate this world of laws and courts! I hate the men who rule it! For nineteen years my soul has had only thoughts of hate. For nineteen years I've planned revenge. Do you hear? Revenge—revenge!