Pierre.
Then make it yourself. The gardener is cleaning the orchid rooms in the
hot-house, and he has no time for you now.
Julia.
He never has time for me!--And the meals that his wife cooks are simply
abominable!--And the wine is always warm!--Do, for mercy's sake, steal
the key to the icehouse!
Pierre.
But you know that I can't!--I always bring you all the ice that I can
manage to take from the table. If I insist upon having the key, the
housekeeper will tell mamma.
Julia.
But I won't drink warm wine--so there! That's what gives me these
headaches.
Pierre.
Your headaches, I want to tell you, come from the roses. Ugh!--this
nasty smell from the withered ones--sour--like stale tobacco
smoke--why, it burns the brains out of one's head!
Julia.
See here, dearie, you let the roses alone! That was our agreement, you
know--basketsful, every morning! I wish the gardener would bring even
more! That's what he's bribed for.--More! More! Always more!
Pierre.