[With sudden impatience.] Ugh, Rubek—how can you endure to sit there listening to these children's screams! And to watch all the capers they are cutting, too!
There is something harmonious—almost like music—in their movements, now and then; amid all the clumsiness. And it amuses me to sit and watch for these isolated moments—when they come.
[With a somewhat scornful laugh.] Yes, you are always, always an artist.
And I propose to remain one.
[Lying on her side, so that her back is turned to him.] There's not a bit of the artist about him.
[With attention.] Who is it that's not an artist?
[Again in a sleepy tone.] Why, he—the other one, of course.
The bear-hunter, you mean?
Yes. There's not a bit of the artist about him—not the least little bit.
[Smiling.] No, I believe there's no doubt about that.