“I am sure,” said Madame. “And I am very glad you have been such a good Kishwégin. That is very nice also.”
“Yes,” replied Mr. May. “I begin to wonder if I have mistaken my vocation. I should have been on the boards, instead of behind them.”
“No doubt,” said Madame. “But it is a little late—”
The eyes of the foreigners, watching him, flattered Mr. May.
“I’m afraid it is,” he said. “Yes. Popular taste is a mysterious thing. How do you feel, now? Do you feel they appreciate your work as much as they did?”
Madame watched him with her black eyes.
“No,” she replied. “They don’t. The pictures are driving us away. Perhaps we shall last for ten years more. And after that, we are finished.”
“You think so,” said Mr. May, looking serious.
“I am sure,” she said, nodding sagely.
“But why is it?” said Mr. May, angry and petulant.