"She had you there," I rejoined.
"Yes, I could only reply, 'Chère madame, voyons!'"
"That was meagre."
"Evidently, for it did no more for me than to give her a chance to declare that he can't possibly be here for any good, and that he belongs to a race it's my sacred duty to loathe."
"I see what she means."
"I don't, then—where artists are concerned. I said to her, 'Ah, madame, vous savez que pour moi il n'y a que l'art!'"
"It's very exciting!" I laughed. "How could she parry that?"
"'I know it, my dear child—but for him?' That's the way she parried it. 'Very well, for him?' I asked. 'For him there's the insolence of the victor and a secret scorn for our incurable illusions!'"
"Heidenmauer has no insolence and no secret scorn."
Vendemer was silent a moment. "Are you very sure of that?"
"Oh, I like him! He's out of all that,
