"Pardon me; he is more outspoken. He asserts that certain women are capable of showing a very just and delicate perception of the sentiments that are expressed, of the truthfulness of the characters, of psychology in general, but that they are totally incapable of discerning the superiority that resides in his profession, its art. When he has once uttered this word, Art, all that is left one to do is to show him the door." Mariolle smiled and asked: "And you, Madame, what do you think of it?" She reflected for a few seconds, then looked him straight in the face to see if he was in a frame of mind to listen and to understand her. "I believe that sentiment, you understand--sentiment--can make a woman's mind receptive of everything; only it is frequently the case that what enters does not remain there. Do you follow me?" "No, not fully, Madame." "Very well! To make us comprehensive to the same degree as you, our woman's nature must be appealed to before addressing our intelligence. We take no interest in what a man has not first made sympathetic to us, for we look at all things through the medium of sentiment. I do not say through the medium of love; no,--but of sentiment, which has shades, forms, and manifestations of every sort. Sentiment is something that belongs exclusively to our domain, which you men have no conception of, for it befogs you while it enlightens us. Oh! I know that all this is incomprehensible to you, the more the pity! In a word, if a man loves us and is agreeable to us, for it is indispensable that we should feel that we are loved in order to become capable of the effort--and if this man is a superior being, by taking a little pains he can make us feel, know, and possess everything, everything, I say, and at odd moments and by bits impart to us the whole of his intelligence. That is all often blotted out afterward; it disappears, dies out, for we are forgetful. Oh! we forget as the wind forgets the words that are spoken to it. We are intuitive and capable of enlightenment, but changeable, impressionable, readily swayed by our surroundings. If I could only tell you how many states of mind I pass through that make of me entirely different women, according to the weather, my health, what I may have been reading, what may have been said to me! Actually there are days when I have the feelings of an excellent mother without children, and others when I almost have those of a _cocotte_ without lovers." Greatly pleased, he asked: "Is it your opinion that intelligent women generally are gifted with this activity of thought?" "Yes," she said. "Only they allow it to slumber, and then they have a life shaped for them which draws them in one direction or the other." Again he questioned: "Then in your heart of hearts it is music that you prefer above all other distractions?"