Pierre.
And you are sure that he loves you deeply?
Julia.
If he didn't love me so much, what need we fear?
Pierre.
Good! Well then, take a carriage at the station and drive home; throw
yourself at his feet and tell him everything. Tell him, for all I care,
that you hate me--that you loathe me--I don't mind--grovel before him
until he raises you. And then all will be well!
Julia.
Ah, if it were possible!--It would be deliverance--it would be heaven!
I should be safe once more--a human being!--I should see the sun again,
instead of these streaks of light!--I should breathe the fresh air,
instead of this musty odour of dead roses!--I shouldn't have to sink
down, down into the filth!--I shouldn't have to be a bad woman--even if
I am one!--There would be a respectable divorce--or perhaps merely a
separation. For, I no longer dare hope to live with him as his wife,
even if I were satisfied to be no better than his dog for the rest of
my days!--Ah, but it cannot be! It cannot be! You don't know him. You
don't know what he's like when the veins stand out on his forehead!--He
would kill me!--Rather than that--kill me yourself!--Here--now--this
moment!--Get your duelling pistols. Oh no! There--there--there are
plenty of weapons! (_She pulls at the weapons on the wall, several of
which fall clattering upon the floor._) Swords--daggers--here! (_Throws
an armful on the chaise-longue._) They are rusty--but that doesn't
matter.--Take one! Stab me first--then--do as you please!--Live if you
can--do!--live as happily as you can! Your life is in your hands.
Pierre.