[He pushes the boots with his feet.] Superstition, prejudice, which have been inoculated into us since our childhood, but which one can’t get rid of. But only come to another country, to a republic, and I’ll make people go on their knees before my porter’s livery—on their knees, do you hear? You’ll see. But not me: I’m not made to go on my knees, for I’ve got grit in me, character, and, once I get on to the first branch, you’ll see me climb right up. To-day I’m a servant, but next year I shall be the proprietor of a hotel; in ten years I shall be independent; then I’ll take a trip to Roumania and get myself decorated, and may—note that I say, may—finish up as a count.

Julie. Good! Good!

John. Oh, yes, the title of Count is to be bought in Roumania, and then you will be a- countess—my countess.

Julie. Tell me that you love me, dear, if you don’t—why, what am I, if you don’t?

John. I’ll tell you a thousand times later on, but not here. And above all, nor sentimentalism, if everything isn’t to go smash. We must look- at the matter quietly, like sensible people. [He takes out a cigar, cuts off the end, and lights it.] You sit there, I’ll sit here; then we’ll have a little chat just as though nothing had happened.

Julie. O my God! have you no feeling then?

John. Me? There’s no man who has more feeling than I have, but I can control myself.

Julie. A short time back you could kiss my shoe—and now?

John. [Brutally.] Yes, a little while ago, but now we’ve got something else to think of.

Julie. Don’t talk brutally to me.

John. No, but I’ll talk sense. We’ve made fools of ourselves once, don’t let’s do it again. The Count may turn up any minute and we’ve got to map out our lives in advance. What do you think of my plans for the future? Do you agree?