It is understanding of the 'uman heart. In
them tame birds pluck wild birds naked.
WELLWYN. They mean well.
FERRAND. Ah! Monsieur, I am loafer, waster--what you like--for all
that [bitterly] poverty is my only crime. If I were rich, should
I not be simply veree original, 'ighly respected, with soul above
commerce, travelling to see the world? And that young girl, would
she not be "that charming ladee," "veree chic, you know!" And the
old Tims--good old-fashioned gentleman--drinking his liquor well.
Eh! bien--what are we now? Dark beasts, despised by all. That is
life, Monsieur. [He stares into the fire.]
WELLWYN. We're our own enemies, Ferrand. I can afford it--you
can't. Quite true!
FERRAND. [Earnestly.] Monsieur, do you know this? You are the
sole being that can do us good--we hopeless ones.
WELLWYN. [Shaking his head.] Not a bit of it; I'm hopeless too.
FERRAND. [Eagerly.] Monsieur, it is just that. You understand.
When we are with you we feel something--here--[he touches his
heart.] If I had one prayer to make, it would be, Good God, give me
to understand! Those sirs, with their theories, they can clean our
skins and chain our 'abits--that soothes for them the aesthetic
sense; it gives them too their good little importance.
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