John. A very sound observation. [He opens another bottle and takes a glass.]

Julie. Drink my health! [JOHN hesitates.] I believe the old duffer is bashful.

John. [On his knees, mock heroically, lifts up his glass.] The health of my mistress!

Julie. Bravo! Now, as a finishing touch, you must kiss my shoe. [JOHN hesitates, then catches sharply hold of her foot and kisses it lightly.] First rate! You should have gone on the stage.

John. [Gets up.] This kind of thing mustn’t go any further, Miss. Anybody might come in and see us.

Julie. What would it matter?

John. People would talk, and make no bones about what they said either, and if you knew, Miss, how their tongues have already been wagging, then

Julie. What did they say then? Tell me, but sit down.

John. [Sits down.] I don’t want to hurt you, but you made use of expressions—which pointed to innuendoes of such a kind—yes, you’ll understand this perfectly well yourself. You’re not a child any more, and, if a lady is seen to drink alone with a man—even if it’s only a servant, tête-à-tête at night—then—

Julie. What then? And, besides, we’re not alone: Christine is here.

John. Yes, asleep.

Julie. Then I’ll wake her up. [She gets up.] Christ tine, are you asleep?

Christine. [In her sleep.] Bla—bla—bla—bla.

Julie. Christine! The woman can go on sleeping.

Christine. [In her sleep.] The Count’s boots are already done—put the coffee out—at once, at once, at once—oh, oh—ah!

Julie. [Takes hold of her by the nose.] Wake up, will you?

John. [Harshly.] You mustn’t disturb a person who’s asleep.