we still have these—for we are also inconsequent—la vie c'est une femme, and they always like to be flattered. By the way, all art is originally decorative, and Apollo is in reality a maître de plaisir in Olympus. But to decorate! Great heavens! who can do that? Rubens could. Now we are far too earnest—that is to say, we are morose—and with reason, because we are anæmic and nervous, and get a headache if we have made a night of it. We pretend that we do not want to dance any more and we put on airs, but the truth is that our legs have become stiff and tired. Well, perhaps you do not share these views, Mr. Fenger. I know quite well they are not in vogue."
"I quite agree with you," I assured him, though I did so only in part; but it pleased me to disappoint his hope of a dispute in which he, with reason, expected to get the best of the argument. Nevertheless, I quite understood that he did not mean anything serious by all this palaver, but that from the beginning he merely wanted to make it clear that he was worldly wise enough to understand my sarcasm; and above all things he wanted to show off before Minna. He glanced constantly towards her with his half-closed eyes, and the self-contented smile seemed to say: "Did you notice how quickly I understood that the conversation must be turned away from the shoals on which this fool was just going to strand us? I hope you are thankful. And cannot I discourse about art brilliantly? He ought to try that, but he wisely keeps silent. Well I, too, know when it is time to be silent. Assez d'esthetique comme ça!"
When we were outside the theatre some ladies and gentlemen came out on to the balconies of the foyer. I thought of yesterday; at this hour I had stood up there with her and had magnified my immense and still growing
