I saw you, Monsieur, I have been in three Institutions. They
are palaces. One may eat upon the floor--though it is true--for
Kings--they eat too much of skilly there. One little thing they
lack--those palaces. 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. But our
spirits they cannot touch, for they nevare understand. Without
that, Monsieur, all is dry as a parched skin of orange.

WELLWYN. Don't be so bitter. Think of all the work they do!

FERRAND. Monsieur, of their industry I say nothing. They do a good
work while they attend with their theories to the sick and the tame
old, and the good unfortunate deserving. Above all to the little
children. But, Monsieur, when all is done, there are always us
hopeless ones. What can they do with me, Monsieur, with that girl,
or with that old man? Ah! Monsieur, we, too, 'ave our qualities,
we others--it wants you courage to undertake a career like mine, or
like that young girl's. We wild ones--we know a thousand times more
of life than ever will those sirs. They waste their time trying to
make rooks white. Be kind to us if you will, or let us alone like
Mees Ann, but do not try to change our skins. Leave us to live, or
leave us to die when we