"And literature, are you not fond of that?"
"I am very fond of it; and I am even so audacious as to claim to have a very good perception of it, notwithstanding Lamarthe's opinion."
"Who also decides that you know nothing at all about it?"
"Of course."
"But who has not told you so in words, any more than the other."
"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?"