John. [More gently.] I don’t want to deny my share in the honor of having seduced you, but do you think that a person in my position would have dared to have raised his eyes to you if you yourself hadn’t invited him to do it? I’m still quite amazed.

Julie. And proud.

John. Why not? Although I must acknowledge that the victory was too easy to make me get a swelled head over it.

Julie. Strike me once more!

John. [He gets up.] No, I’d rather ask you to forgive me what I’ve already said. I don’t hit a defenceless person, and least of all a girl. I can’t deny that from one point of view I enjoyed seeing that it was not gold but glitter which dazzled us all down below; to have seen that the back, of the hawk was only drab, and that there was powder on those dainty cheeks, and that those manicured nails could have grimy tips, that the handkerchief was dirty, even though it did smell of scent! But it pained me, on the other hand, to have seen that the thing I’d been striving for was not something higher, something sounder; it pains me to have seen you sink so deep that you are far beneath your own cook; it pains me to see that the autumn flowers have crumpled up in the rain and turned into a mess.

Julie. You’re talking as though you were already my superior.

John. I am; look here, I could change you into a countess, but you could never make me into a count!

Julie. But I am bred from a count, and that you can never be.

John. That’s true, but I could produce counts myself if—

Julie. But you’re a thief, and I’m not.

John. There are worse things than being a thief; that’s not the worst, besides, if I’m serving in a household, I look upon myself in a manner of speaking as one of the family, as a child of the house, and it isn’t regarded as stealing if a child picks a berry from a large bunch.