Gerardo. I know. But come here, Miss Coeurne. (Sits down in an armchair and draws her up in front of him.) Let me have a serious talk with you, such as you have never heard before in your young life but seem to need very much at the present time. Do you think because I am an artist—now don't misunderstand me, please. You are—how old are you?
Miss Coeurne. Twenty-two.
Gerardo. You are sixteen, at most seventeen. You make yourself several years older in order to appear more attractive to me. Well now? You are still quite simple, to be sure. But, as I was going to say, my being an artist certainly does not impose upon me the duty to help you to get over being simple! Don't take it amiss. Well? Why are you looking away now?
Miss Coeurne. I told you I was still very simple because that's the way they like to have young girls here in Germany.
Gerardo. I am not a German, my child, but at the same time ...
Miss Coeurne. Well?—I am not so simple, after all.
Gerardo. I am no children's nurse either! That's not the right word, I feel it, for—you are no longer a child, unfortunately?
Miss Coeurne. No!—Unfortunately!—Not now.
Gerardo. But you see, my dear young woman—you have your games of tennis, you have your skating club, you may go bicycling or take mountain trips with your lady friends. You may enjoy yourself swimming or riding on horseback or dancing whichever you like. I am sure you have everything a young girl could wish for. Then why do you come to me?
Miss Coeurne. Because I hate all of that and because it's such a bore!