Jeanne. Then shame to you, soldier of France! Shame on a Frenchman who can forget his pride of race and make a comrade of an Englishman!
Paul. Maid, you do not understand.
Jeanne. No. I do not understand. I do not understand treachery. I do not understand baseness, dishonor, and the perfidy of one who has forgotten he is French. The English are the foes of France, and you consort with them. You—
Fred. 'Ere, 'ere, 'alf a mo'. Steady on, lady. You've got to learn something. All that stuff you've just been talking about the Battle of Waterloo. It's a wash-out now. We've cut it out. This 'ere bloke you're grousing at 'e's a friend of mine, and I'll pipe up for a friend when 'e's being reprimanded undeserving.
Jeanne. It is for that I blame a son of France, that he makes friends with you.
Fred. Well, it's your mistake. That's the worst of coming out of history. You're out of date. If I took my great-grandmother on a motor-bus to a picture-show, she'd have the same sort of fit that you've got, only it's worse with you. You're further back. And I'll tell you something. That old French froggy business is dead and gorn. We've given it up. Time's passed when an Englishman thought he could lick two Frenchmen with one hand tied behind his back. It's a back number, lady. Carpentier put the lid on that. You ask Billy Wells. Us blokes and the French, we're feeding out of one another's hands to-day.
Jeanne. I have seen the English and the French together in the streets. They do not fight.
Fred. Lord bless you, no. Provost-marshal wouldn't let 'em, if they wanted a friendly scrap.
Jeanne. They fraternize. I have seen them walking arm-in-arm.
Fred. That's natural enough.