“Oh, I don’t mean you in particular; when I say _you_, I mean novelists in general. Most of your characters seem to be built on piles; they have neither foundations nor sub-soil. I really think there’s more truth to be found in the poets; everything which is created by the intelligence alone is false. But now I am talking of what isn’t my business.... Do you know what puzzles me in Boris? I believe him to be exceedingly pure.” “Why should that puzzle you?” “Because I don’t know where to look for the source of the evil. Nine times out of ten a derangement like his has its origin in some sort of ugly secret.” “Such a one exists in every one of us, perhaps,” said I, “but it doesn’t make us all ill, thank Heaven!” At that Mme. Sophroniska rose; she had just seen Bronja pass by the window. “Look!” said she, pointing her out to me; “there is Boris’s real doctor. She is looking for me; I must leave you; but I shall see you again, shan’t I?” For that matter, I understand what Sophroniska reproaches the novel for not giving her; but in this case, certain reasons of art escape her--higher reasons, which make me think that a good novelist will never be made out of a good naturalist. I have introduced Laura to Mme. Sophroniska. They seem to take to each other, and I am glad of it. I have fewer scruples about keeping to myself when I know they are chatting together. I am sorry that Bernard has no companion of his own age; but at any rate the preparation for his examination keeps him occupied for several hours a day. I have been able to start work again on my novel. III EDOUARD EXPLAINS HIS THEORY OF THE NOVEL