they don't mean anything by that. Why take it so tragically?
Marat [raising his head, says with determination]. Who are you?
Hulin. I come from your country—Neuchâtel in Switzerland. Don't you remember me? I know you very well. I saw you when you were a child—at Boudry.
Marat. So you are Hulin, Augustin Hulin?
Hulin. Right!
Marat. What are you doing here? You were a clock-maker in Geneva.
Hulin. I led a quiet life there. But I was counting without my brother, who began to speculate. He became imbroiled in some underhanded scheme, signed certain papers—. Naturally, he took it into his head to die, and left his wife and a child of three for me to take care of. I sold my shop to pay his debts, and came to Paris, where I was taken into the service of the Marquis de Vintimille.
Marat. Then I'm not surprised at your cowardly words. You are a servant.
Hulin. What if I am?
Marat. Are you not ashamed to serve another man?
Hulin. I see no shame in it. Each of us serves, in one way or another. Are you not a doctor, Monsieur Marat? You spend your days examining people's wounds, and dressing them as well as you can. You go to bed very late, and you get up at night when your patients call you. Are you not then a servant?
