JEAN.  Oh, rot!  You’d be glad enough to get a smart fellow like me.  And I guess it hasn’t hurt you that they call me your beau. [Tasting the wine] Good!  Pretty good!  Just a tiny bit too cold. [He warms the glass with his hand.] We got this at Dijon.  It cost us four francs per litre, not counting the bottle.  And there was the duty besides.  What is it you’re cooking—­with that infernal smell?

CHRISTINE.  Oh, it’s some deviltry the young lady is going to give
Diana.

JEAN.  You should choose your words with more care, Christine.  But why should you be cooking for a bitch on a holiday eve like this?  Is she sick?

CHRISTINE.  Ye-es, she is sick.  She’s been running around with the gate-keeper’s pug—­and now’s there’s trouble—­and the young lady just won’t hear of it.

JEAN.  The young lady is too stuck up in some ways and not proud enough in others—­just as was the countess while she lived.  She was most at home in the kitchen and among the cows, but she would never drive with only one horse.  She wore her cuffs till they were dirty, but she had to have cuff buttons with a coronet on them.  And speaking of the young lady, she doesn’t take proper care of herself and her person.  I might even say that she’s lacking in refinement.  Just now, when she was dancing in the barn, she pulled the gamekeeper away from Anna and asked him herself to come and dance with her.  We wouldn’t act in that way.  But that’s just how it is:  when upper-class people want to demean themselves, then they grow—–­ mean!  But she’s splendid!  Magnificent!  Oh, such shoulders!  And—­and so on!

CHRISTINE.  Oh, well, don’t brag too much!  I’ve heard Clara talking, who tends to her dressing.

JEAN.  Pooh, Clara!  You’re always jealous of each other.  I, who have been out riding with her—­And then the way she dances!

CHRISTINE.  Say, Jean, won’t you dance with me when I’m done?

JEAN.  Of course I will.

CHRISTINE.  Do you promise?

JEAN.  Promise?  When I say so, I’ll do it.  Well, here’s thanks for the good food.  It tasted fine! [Puts the cork back into the bottle.]

JULIA. [Appears in the doorway, speaking to somebody on the outside] I’ll be back in a minute.  You go right on in the meantime.

[JEAN slips the bottle into the table-drawer and rises respectfully.]

JULIA.[Enters and goes over to CHRISTINE by the wash-stand] Well, is it done yet?

[CHRISTINE signs to her that JEAN is present.]

JEAN. [Gallantly] The ladies are having secrets, I believe.

JULIA. [Strikes him in the face with her handkerchief] That’s for you, Mr. Pry!

JEAN.  Oh, what a delicious odor that violet has!

JULIA. [With coquetry] Impudent!  So you know something about perfumes also?  And know pretty well how to dance—­Now don’t peep!  Go away!

JEAN. [With polite impudence] Is it some kind of witches’ broth the ladies are cooking on Midsummer Eve—­something to tell fortunes by and bring out the lucky star in which one’s future love is seen?