She cries out those words with such violence and in a voice of such authority that Nérisse stops and drops into a chair.
She cries out those words with such violence and in a voice of such authority that Nérisse stops and drops into a chair.
Nérisse.Forgive me. I'm out of my mind. I don't know what I'm doing.
Thérèse[in a low, forced voice] Will you go? I've work to do.
Nérisse.Yes, I'll go. [He rises and says humbly] I want to ask you—you won't leave us?
Thérèse.You dare to say that? You think I'll expose myself a second time to a scene like this. Yes! I shall leave, and leave to-night!Willyou go?
Nérisse.I implore you. [Hearing a noise outside, suddenly alarmed] Here she is! Control yourself, I beg of you. Don't tell her.
Thérèse.You needn't be afraid.
Madame Nérisse comes in.
Madame Nérisse comes in.
Madame Nérisse[looking from one to the other] What's going on here?
Nérisse.Mademoiselle Thérèse says that she's going to leave us, and I tried to make her understand—perhaps you could do something—I must go out.
Madame Nérisse.Yes. Go.
He takes his hat and goes out at the back.
He takes his hat and goes out at the back.
Madame Nérisse.You wish to leave us?
Thérèse.Yes, Madame.
Madame Nérisse.Because Monsieur Nérisse—?
Thérèse.Yes, Madame.
Madame Nérisse[troubled and sad] What can I say to you?
Thérèse.Nothing, Madame.
Madame Nérisse.My poor child.
Thérèse.I don't want pity. Don't be unhappy about me. I shall be able to manage for myself. I have plenty of courage.
Madame Nérisse.I'm so ashamed to let you go like this. How honest and loyal you are! [To herself] I was honest too, once.
Thérèse.Good-bye, Madame. [She begins to tidy her papers]
Madame Nérisse.Good-bye, Thérèse.
Madame Nérisse goes out.
Madame Nérisse goes out.
When Thérèse is left alone she breaks down and bursts out crying like a little child. Then she wipes her eyes, puts her hat on, goes to the cardboard box, and takes out her veil, which she slips into her little bag. She takes out Monsieur Nérisse's letter; still crying she puts the letter into another envelope, which she closes and leaves well in sight upon the table. Then she takes her little black moleskin bag and her umbrella and goes out slowly. She is worn out, almost stooping; and, as the curtain falls, one sees the poor little figure departing, its shoulders shaken by sobs.
When Thérèse is left alone she breaks down and bursts out crying like a little child. Then she wipes her eyes, puts her hat on, goes to the cardboard box, and takes out her veil, which she slips into her little bag. She takes out Monsieur Nérisse's letter; still crying she puts the letter into another envelope, which she closes and leaves well in sight upon the table. Then she takes her little black moleskin bag and her umbrella and goes out slowly. She is worn out, almost stooping; and, as the curtain falls, one sees the poor little figure departing, its shoulders shaken by sobs.
Scene:—Thérèse's studio at the bookbinding workshops of Messrs. Féliat and Guéret at Evreux. Strewn about are materials for binding books: patterns, tools, and silks. A glazed door on the right opens into the general women's workshops, and there is a door leading into a small office on the left. In the middle, towards the back, is a large drawing table; several easels stand about. There are some chairs and a small bureau. Cards hang upon the walls, on which are printed the text of the Factory Laws. There is a door at the back.
It is October.
Monsieur Guéret and Monsieur Féliat come in excitedly.
Guéret.I tell you Duriot's men are coming out on strike.
Féliat.And I ask you, what's that to me?
Guéret.Ours will do the same.
Féliat.Oh no, they won't.
Guéret.You'll see.
Féliat.Duriot's men are furious with the women because of what happened last year.
Guéret.They say woman's the enemy in business.
Féliat.Let 'em talk.
Guéret.They want Duriot to sack all his women.
Féliat.And I've told you why. There's no danger of anything like that happening here.
Guéret.You think so, do you? Well, you'll see.
Féliat.We shall see.
Guéret.You'll give in only after they've broken two or three of your machines as they did Duriot's, or done something worse, perhaps.
Féliat.My dear Guéret, I get out of the women for a cent what I have to pay the men three cents for. And as long as I can economize ten cents on the piece I shall go on.
Guéret.You'll regret it. If I was in your place—[He stops]
Féliat.Well, what would you do if you were in my place?
Guéret.What should I do?
Féliat.Yes, what?
Guéret.I shouldn't take long to think. I'd cut off a finger to save my hand, I'd turn out every one of the women to-morrow.
Féliat.You're mad. You've always objected to my employing women, and I know very well why.
Guéret.Well, let's hear why.
Féliat.You want to know. Well, because you've been jealous of Thérèse ever since she came here six months ago.
Guéret.Oh, I say!
Féliat.That's it; my sister can't endure her.
Guéret.Marguerite—
Féliat.You know she wouldn't even see her when she came down from Paris; and if Thérèse got work here, it was in spite of Marguerite. I was wiser than you about this. The girl's courage appealed to me. She's plucky and intelligent. Oh, I don't want to make myself out cleverer than I am. I took her a bit out of pity, and I thought she'd draw me a few designs; that was all I expected. But she has energy and initiative. She organized the two workrooms, and now she's got the whole thing into order by starting this Union.
Guéret.The Hen's Union.
Féliat.What?
Guéret.That's what the men call her Union. You should hear the things they say about it.
Féliat.Well, long live the Hen's Union! A hen's plucky when it has to be.
Guéret.Seriously, it's just this Union which has annoyed the men. They feel it's dangerous.
Féliat.Very well. I'll be ready for them.
Thérèse comes in.
Thérèse comes in.
Guéret.I'll go and find out what's going on.
Féliat.Yes, do.
Monsieur Guéret goes out.
Monsieur Guéret goes out.
Thérèse.I've just been seeing the man who makes our finishing tools. He says it's perfectly easy to make a tool from the drawing I did that won't be more expensive than the old one. [Looking for a paper and finding it on the table] Here's the drawing. You see I've thought of cheapness, but I've not sacrificed utility. After all, it's only a copy of a Grolier, just a little altered.
Féliat.Very good, but what will the price come out at?
Thérèse.How much do you think.
Féliat.I can easily do it. [He calculates during what follows]
Thérèse.The beating won't be done with a hammer, but in the rolling machine; the sawing-in and the covering will be done as usual.
Féliat[having finished his sum] Two francs forty.
Thérèse[triumphantly] One franc seventy. You've calculated on the basis of men's work. But, if you approve, I'll open a new workroom for women in the old shop. Lucienne can manage it. I could let Madame Princeteau take Lucienne's present place, and I'll turn out the stuff at the price I quoted.
Féliat.But that's first-rate. I give you an absolutely free hand.
Thérèse.Thank you, Monsieur Féliat.
Féliat.How do you think the men will take it? You know that last year, before you came here, a strike of the workmen was broken by the women taking the work the men were asking a rise for—taking it at lower wages, too. Since then the men feel very strongly against the women. Your godfather is anxious about it.
Thérèse.Oh, leave it to me, I'm not afraid.
Féliat.Well done. I like pluck. Go ahead. How lucky I was to get you here.
Thérèse.How grateful I am to you for believing in me. [Lucienne appears at the door on the right. She is speaking to a workwoman who is not visible, while the following conversation goes on] And how good you are, too, to have given work to poor Lucienne. When I think what you saved her from! She really owes her life to you. At any rate she owes it to you that she's living respectably.
Féliat.Well, I oweyouten per cent reduction on my general expenses. [With a change of tone] Then that's agreed? You're going ahead?
Thérèse.Yes, Monsieur.
Féliat.I'll go and give the necessary orders. [He goes out]
Thérèse.It's all right. It's done. He's agreed! I'm to have my new workroom, and you're to be the head of it.
Lucienne.Oh, splendid! Then I'm really of some importance here at last. [A long happy sigh] Oh dear, how happy I am. I'd never have believed I could have enjoyed the smell of a bindery so. [Sniffing] Glue, and white of egg, and old leather; it's lovely! Oh, Thérèse, what you did for me in bringing me here! What I owe you! That's what a woman'sbeing free means; it means a woman who earns her own living.
Thérèse.Oh, you're right! Isn't it splendid, Lucienne, ten wretched women saved, thanks to our new workshop. I've seen Duriot's forewoman. At any moment fifty women from there may be out of work. I can take on only ten at present, and I've had to choose. That was dreadful! Thirty of them are near starvation. I took the worst cases: the old maids, the girls with babies, the ones whose husbands have gone off and left them, the widows. Every one of those, but for me, would have been starved or gone on the streets. I used to want to write books and realize my dreams that way. Now I can realize them by work. I wish Caroline Legrand could know what I'm doing. It was she who helped me to get over my silly pride, and come and ask for work here.
Lucienne.Dear Caroline Legrand! Without her! Without you! [With a change of tone] What d'you suppose happened to me this morning? I had a visit from Monsieur Gambard.
Thérèse[laughing] Another visit! I shall be jealous!
Lucienne.You've reason. For the last week that excellent old man has come every single morning with a book for me to bind. I begged him not to take so much trouble, and I told him that if he had more work for us to do, we could send for the books to his house. What d'you think he did to-day?
Thérèse.I've no idea.
Lucienne.He asked me to marry him.
Thérèse.My dear! What then?
Lucienne.Why, then I told him that I was married and separated from my husband.
Thérèse.There's such a thing as divorce.
Lucienne.Naughty girl! That's exactly what hesaid. I told him that my first experience of marriage was not calculated to make me run the chances of a second. And then he asked me to be his mistress.
Thérèse.Indignation of Lucienne!
Lucienne.No! I really couldn't be angry. He offered so naïvely to settle part of his fortune upon me that I was disarmed. I simply told him I was able to earn my own living, so I was not obliged to sell myself.
Thérèse.And he went off?
Lucienne.And he went off.
Thérèse[starting suddenly] Was that three o'clock that struck.
Lucienne.Yes, but there's nothing very extraordinary in that.
Thérèse.Not for you, perhaps. But I made up my mind not to think about a certain thing until it was three o'clock. I stuck to it—almost—not very easily. Well, my dear, three o'clock to-day is a most solemn hour in my life.
Lucienne.You don't say so!
Thérèse.I do.Lucienne, I am so happy. I don't know how I can have deserved to be as happy as I am.
Lucienne.Good gracious, what's happened in the last five minutes?
Thérèse.I'll tell you. One hour ago René arrived at Evreux. He's come back from Tunis. Come back a success and a somebody. And now—
Vincent, a workman, comes in.
Vincent, a workman, comes in.
Vincent.Good-morning, Mademoiselle Thérèse. I want a word with you, because it's you who engages—
Thérèse.Not the workmen.
Vincent.I know. But it's about a woman, about my wife.
Thérèse[sharply] Your wife? But I don't want your wife.
Vincent.I heard as how you were taking on hands.
Thérèse.Yes, but I choose them carefully. First of all I take the ones who need work or are not wanted at home.
Vincent.You're quite right—but I ain't asking you to pay my old woman very much—not as much as a man.
Thérèse.Why not, if she does the same work?
Vincent[with male superiority] Well, in the first place, she's only a woman; and, besides, if you didn't make a bit out of it, you wouldn't take her in the place of a man.
Thérèse.But you get excellent wages here yourself. You can live without forcing your wife to work.
Vincent.Well, anyhow, her few halfpence would be enough to pay for my tobacco.
Lucienne[laughing] Come, you don't smoke as much as all that.
Vincent.Besides, it'll put a bit more butter on the bread.
Thérèse.But your wife will take the place of another woman who hasn't even dry bread perhaps.
Vincent.Oh, if one was bothering all the time about other people's troubles, you'd have enough to do!
Thérèse.Now will you forgive me if I meddle a little in what isn't exactly my business?
Vincent.Oh, go on, you won't upset me.
Thérèse.What d'you do when you leave the works? You go to the saloon?
Vincent[losing control of himself and becoming violent and coarse] That's yer game, is it! You take me for a regler soaker. That's a bit too thick, that is. You can go and ask for yourself in all the saloons round here. Blimey, sometimes I don't drink nothing but water for a week on end! Can you find anybody as has ever seen me blue-blind-paralytic—eh? I'm one of the steady ones, I am. I has a tiddley in the morning,like every man as is a man, to keep out the fog; then I has a Vermouth before lunch, and a drop of something short after, just to oil the works like—and that's the bloomin' lot. Of course you're bound to have a Pernod before dinner to get your appetite up; and if I go for a smoke and a wet after supper, well, it's for the sake of a bit of company.
Thérèse[who has been jotting down figures with a pencil while he has been talking] Well, that's a franc a day you might have saved.
Vincent.A franc.
Thérèse[holding out the paper to him] Add it up.
Vincent[a little confused] Oh, I'll take your word for it. I ain't much good at sums.
Thérèse.With that franc you might have put a fine lot of butter on every round of bread.
Vincent.Well, look here, I want a bicycle.
Thérèse.Why? You live five minutes' walk from here.
Vincent.Yes, but I want to get about a bit on Sundays.
Thérèse.There's one thing you haven't thought of. You have two little children. Who'll look after them if your wife comes to work here?
Vincent.Don't you worry about that. You takes 'em all dirty to the crèche every morning and gets 'em back in the evenin' all tidied up.
Thérèse.And who's going to get supper ready?
Vincent[naïvely] Why, the old woman when she comes back from work.
Thérèse.While you take your little drink?
Vincent[the same tone] Oh, yes; I shan't hurry her up too much.
Thérèse.Who'll mend your clothes?
Vincent.Why, the old woman of course.
Thérèse.When?
Vincent.On Sundays.
Thérèse.While you go off for a run on the bicycle?
Vincent.Yes; it'll be a change for her. And at night I'll take her to see me play billiards. [With a change of tone] That's all settled, ain't it?
Thérèse.Indeed, it's not.
Vincent.Why not? Aren't you going to open a new workroom?
Thérèse.Your wife has no need to work.
Vincent.What's that got to do with you? You're taking on the others.
Thérèse.The others are in want.
Vincent.That's nothing to me. You ought to take the wives of the chaps as works here first.
Thérèse.All I can do is to mention her name at the next meeting of our Union.
Vincent.Oh, damn your Union—it's a fair nuisance!
Thérèse.A Union is always a nuisance to somebody.
Vincent.And you'll ask your Union not to take my old woman?
Thérèse.I certainly shall.
Vincent[rather threateningly] Very well. Things was more comfortable here before you come from Paris, you know.
Thérèse[quietly] I'm sorry.
Vincent.And they'll be more comfortable when you take your hook back.
Thérèse.That won't be for a good while yet.
Vincent.I ain't so damned sure about that! Good-afternoon.
Thérèse.Good-afternoon.
He goes out.
He goes out.
Lucienne.You've made an enemy, my dear.
Thérèse.I don't care as long as I'm able to prevent women being driven to work to pay for their husbands' idleness and drunkenness.
Féliat and Guéret come in. Lucienne goes out.
Féliat and Guéret come in. Lucienne goes out.
Féliat.Tell me, Mademoiselle, if there was a strike here, could you count upon your workwomen?
Thérèse.I'm sure I could.
Féliat.Are you certain none of them would go back on you?
Thérèse.Two or three married women might if their husbands threatened them.
Féliat.Will you try, in a quiet way, to find out about that?
Thérèse.Yes, certainly. [She makes a movement to go out]
Féliat.Look here, it seems that Duriot has just had a visit from two delegates from the Central Committee in Paris, who were sent down to protest against the engagement of women. I'm afraid we're going to have trouble here.
Thérèse.The conditions here are very different from those at Duriot's.
Féliat.All the same, find out what you can.
Thérèse.I will, at once. [She goes towards the door]
Féliat.Whatever happens we must send off that Brazilian order. How is it getting on?
Thérèse.We shall have everything ready in three days. I'll go and inquire about the other thing.
[She goes out]
[She goes out]
Féliat.Good.
Guéret.Three days isn't the end of the world. I think I can promise you to keep my men as long as that.
Féliat.If it's absolutely necessary, one might make them some little concessions.
Guéret.I'll do all I can.
Féliat.Yes. And if they're too exacting, we'll let them go, and the women shall get the stuff finished up for us. [There is a knock at the door] Come in.
René comes in.
René comes in.
Guéret.Hullo!
Féliat.René!
Guéret.You or your ghost?
Féliat.Where do you come from? Nobody's heard of you for a hundred years.
René.Come now, only six months, and you've had some news.
Féliat.Where are you from last?
René.From Tunis.
Guéret.And what are you doing here?
René.I'll tell you all about it. I want to have a bit of a talk with you.
Féliat.Well, we're listening.
Guéret.You're mighty solemn about it.
René.It's extremely serious business.
Féliat.Don't be tragic. You're here safe and sound; and you've not lost money, because you'd none to lose.
René.I've come to marry Thérèse.
Guéret.Well, I must say you don't beat about the bush.
Féliat.But it's to your own people you've got to say that. What the devil—! Thérèse has no more money than she had a year ago. So—
René.I'll marry her in spite of them.
Guéret.Well, we've nothing to do with it.
René.Yes, but I don't want to marry her in spite of you.
Féliat.Nor in spite of herself.
René.I'm certain she won't say no.
Féliat.But a year ago you solemnly separated; you both agreed everything was over.
René.Nothing was over. A year ago I was a fool.
Guéret.To the point again.
Féliat.And what are you now?
René.At any rate I am not quite useless any longer. I'm not a boy now, obliged to do what he's told because he's perfectly incapable of doing for himself.
Féliat.Have you found something to do?
René.I'm in phosphates.
Féliat.And what the devil are you in phosphates?
René.Representative.
Féliat.How do you mean?
René.A commercial traveller, as father said with great contempt.
Guéret.Well, it was not with a view to that sort of future that he had you called to the Bar.
René.At the Bar I could have earned my own living in about ten years—possibly. When I had to give up marrying Thérèse I saw how useless I was. Thanks to her I found myself out. She gave me a bit of her own courage. She woke up my self-respect. Besides, after that I had something to work for, an aim, and I seemed to understand why I was alive. I worked and read a lot; my firm noticed me; they sent me to Tunis. I asked them to let me give up clerk work and have a try on my own. Over there I got into touch with three small firms. I placed their goods. I earn four hundred francs a month. Next year I mean to start a little branch in this district where we will manufacture superphosphates. From now until then I shall travel about the district and try and get customers; and my wife—and Thérèse—will go on with her work here, if you will be so good as to keep her.
Guéret.Ouf! Think of a young man who can talk as long as that, without taking breath, giving up the Bar. What a pity!
Féliat[to René] Have you told all that to your people?
René.Yes. They're not at all proud of my business. And after refusing to let me marry Thérèse because she had no money they won't let me marry her now because she works for her living. To be directress of a bindery, even of your bindery, uncle, is not distinguished enough for them.
Féliat.Well, my boy, you certainly couldn't have stood up to things like that a year ago. What d'you want us to do for you? Thérèse doesn't want our consent to marry; nor do you.
While Monsieur Féliat has been speaking, old Mother Bougne has come in from the right. She is a poor old workwoman who walks with difficulty, leaning on a broom, from which one feels that she never parts. She has a bunch of keys at her waistbelt; her apron is turned up and makes a sort of pocket into which she slips pieces of paper and scraps that she picks up from the floor. René looks at her with surprise.
While Monsieur Féliat has been speaking, old Mother Bougne has come in from the right. She is a poor old workwoman who walks with difficulty, leaning on a broom, from which one feels that she never parts. She has a bunch of keys at her waistbelt; her apron is turned up and makes a sort of pocket into which she slips pieces of paper and scraps that she picks up from the floor. René looks at her with surprise.
Féliat.You're looking at Mother Bougne. Good-morning, Mother Bougne.
Mother Bougne.Good-morning, Monsieur Féliat.
Féliat.When does the Committee of your Union sit?
Mother Bougne.On Wednesday, Monsieur Féliat.
Féliat.You won't miss it, will you?
Mother Bougne.I haven't missed one up to now, Monsieur Féliat.
Féliat.That's right. [She goes out at the back during what follows. Monsieur Féliat turns to René and says] We call Mother Bougne our Minister of the Interior, because she tries to keep the place tidy. She's been a weaver near Rouen since she was eight years old; she's been stranded here.
René.And she's a member of the Committee of the Union?
Guéret.Yes, she's a member. Thérèse insisted on it. When Thérèse founded a Woman's Trade Union here she had the nice idea of including among them this poor old creature, wrecked by misery and hard work. Our Thérèse has ideas like that. [With a change of tone] But business, business. What do you want us to do for you?
René.I've come to ask you two things. The first is to try to get round my people.
Féliat.Well, I'll try. But I know your father. He's even more obstinate than I am myself. I shan't make the smallest impression upon him. What else?
René.I want to have a talk with Thérèse in your presence.
Féliat.In our presence! Now listen, my boy. Our presence will be much more useful in the work rooms. We have our hands full here. You've dropped in just at the point of a split between workmen and employers. Besides, to tell you the truth, I think I know pretty well what you have to say to Thérèse. I'll send her to you. And, look here, don't keep her too long, because she's got her hands full too. [To Guéret] Will you go and telephone to Duriot's?
Guéret[looking at his watch] Yes, there might be some news. [He goes out]
Féliat[to René] And I'll send Thérèse here.
He goes out and René is alone for a few moments. Then Thérèse comes in. They advance towards each other quietly.
He goes out and René is alone for a few moments. Then Thérèse comes in. They advance towards each other quietly.
Thérèse.How do you do, René?
René.How are you, Thérèse?
They shake hands, then, giving way to their feelings, they kiss each other tenderly and passionately.
They shake hands, then, giving way to their feelings, they kiss each other tenderly and passionately.
Thérèse[in a low voice] That'll do; don't, René dear. [She withdraws gently from his embrace] Don't. Let's talk. Have you seen your people?
René.Yes.
Thérèse.Well?
René.Well, Thérèse, they won't come to our wedding.
Thérèse.They still refuse their consent?
René.We can do without it.
Thérèse.But they refuse it?
René.Yes. Forgive me, my dearest, for asking you to take just my own self. Do you love me enough to marry me quite simply, without any relations, since I leave my relations for your sake?
Thérèse.My dear, we mustn't do that; we must wait.
René.No, I won't wait. I won't lose the best time of my life, and years of happiness, for the sake of prejudices I don't believe in. Do you remember what you said to me the night we playedBarberine? You were splendid. You said: "Marry me all the same, in spite of my poverty." [She makes a movement to stop him] Oh, let me—please let me go on! I was only a miserable weakling then, I was frightened about the future. But you roused me and set me going. If I'm a man now, it's to you I owe it. Thanks to you I know how splendid it is to trust one's self and struggle, and hope, and succeed. Now I can come to you and say: "I am the man you wanted me to be, let us marry and live together." Oh, together, together! How splendid it sounds! Do you remember how you said that night long ago: "Let us conquer our place in the world together"?
Thérèse.Oh, René! René! We must wait!
René.Why? Why must we wait? What possible reason can you have for not doing now what you wanted me to do a year ago? Don't you believe in me?
Thérèse.Oh yes, yes. It's not that!
René.What is it then? Thérèse, you frighten me. It seems as if you were hiding something from me.
Thérèse.No, no. What an idea!
René.Is it—oh, can it be that you don't love me so much?
Thérèse.Oh, René, no, no. Don't think that for a moment.
René.But you're not being straight with me. You're hiding something.
Thérèse.Don't ask me.
René.Thérèse!
Thérèse.Oh, please don't ask me!
René.Now, you know very well that's impossible. How can there be secrets between us? You and I are the sort of people who are straight with one another. I must have my share in everything that makes you unhappy.
Thérèse.Well, then, I must tell you. It's about your father and mother. Oh, how I wish I needn't tell you. René, while you've been away your people have been dreadful to me. Your father came here to see me. He wanted me to swear never to see you again—never. Of course I wouldn't. When I refused to give in he said it was through worldly wisdom. He said: "If he wasn't going to inherit my money, you wouldn't hang on to him like this." He dared to say that to me, René—your father whom I have always wanted to respect and love. He thought that of me. And then I swore to him, and I've sworn to myself, that I'll never marry you, never, without his consent. I cannot be suspected ofthat. You understand, don't you? The poorer I am the prouder I ought to be. [She bursts into tears] My dear—my dear! How unhappy I am! How dreadfully unhappy I am!
René.My darling! [He kisses her]
Thérèse.Don't, René! I couldn't help tellingyou. But you understand, my dearest, that we've got to wait until he knows me better.
René[forcibly] No. We willnotwait.
Thérèse.I'll never break my word.
René.What d'you want us to wait for? A change of opinion that'll probably never come. And our youth will go, we shall have spoilt our lives. You want to send me back to Paris all alone and unhappy, to spend long silent evenings thinking about you and suffering from not being with you, while you, here, will be suffering in the same way, in the same loneliness. And we love each other, and it absolutely depends only on ourselves whether we shall change our double unhappiness for a double joy. [Changing his tone] I can't stand it, Thérèse. I've loved you for two years, and all this last year I've toiled and slaved to win you. [Low and ardently] I want you.
Thérèse.Oh, hush, hush!
René.I want you. You're the one woman I've loved in my life. My love for youismy life. I can't give up my life. Listen: I have to be in Paris this evening; are you going to let me leave you broken-hearted?
Thérèse.Do you think that I'm not broken-hearted?
René.I shan't suffer any the less because I know that you're suffering too.
Thérèse.It doesn't depend upon us.
René.It depends entirely upon us. Look here, if people refuse to let us marry, our love for each other is strong enough to do without marriage. Thérèse, come with me!
Thérèse.Oh, René, René! What are you asking me to do?
René.Have you faith in me? Look at me. Do you think I'm sincere? Do you think I'm an honestman? Do you think that, if people refuse to let us go through a ridiculous ceremony together, our union will be any the less durable? Is it the ceremony that makes it real? Thérèse, come with me. Come this evening; let's go together; let's love each other. Oh, if you loved me as much as I love you, you wouldn't hesitate for a second.
Thérèse.Oh, don't say that, I implore you!
René.Then you don't trust me?
Thérèse.I won't do it. I won't do it.
René.What prevents you? You're absolutely alone, you have no relations. You owe nothing to anybody. No one will suffer for your action. You've already given a year of your life to the foolish prejudices of society. You've shown them respect enough. First they prevented our marriage because you were poor; now they want to prevent it because you work. Thanks to you I have been able to assert myself and get free. My father and mother can keep their money. I don't want it. Come.
Thérèse[in tears] You're torturing me. Oh, my dear, you're making me most unhappy. I could never do that, never. Don't be angry with me. I love you. I swear that I love you.
René.I love you, Thérèse. I swear that I love you. All my life is yours. [He breaks down] Don't make me so unhappy. The more unhappy, the more I love you.
Thérèse.I couldn't do it.