Leon.—It is a story told in a subjective way by a third person. According to the second clause in our agreement—"sincerity"—I must add that I am already accustomed to my wheelbarrow.
Jadwiga.—We must not speak about it.
Leon.—I warn you—it will be difficult.
Jadwiga.—It should be more easy for you. You, the elect of art and the pride of the whole nation, and in the mean while its spoiled child—you can live with your whole soul in the present and in the future. From the flowers strewn under one's feet, one can always chose the most beautiful, or not choose at all, but always tread upon them.
Leon.—If one does not stumble.
Jadwiga.—No! To advance toward immortality.
Leon.—Longing for death while on the road.
Jadwiga.—It is an excess of pessimism for a man who says that he is accustomed to his wheelbarrow.
Leon.—I wish only to show the other side of the medal. And then you must remember, madam, that to-day pessimism is the mode. You must not take my words too seriously. In a drawing-room one strings the words of a conversation like beads on a thread—it is only play.
Jadwiga.—Let us play then (after a while). Ah! How many changes! I cannot comprehend. If two years ago some one had told me that to-day we would sit far apart from each other, and chat as we do, and look at each other with watchful curiosity, like two people perfectly strange to each other, I could not have believed. Truly, it is utterly amusing!