"I couldn't breathe," said Ottilie. "It's not that I want to run the country down, or the people or the family. It all has its good side. But, just as the grey skies hindered me from breathing, so the houses hindered me from producing my voice properly; and there was something around me, I don't know what, that struck me as terrible."
"Something that struck you as terrible?" said Elly.
"Yes, an atmosphere of sorts. At home, I could never get on with Mamma, any more than Papa and Mamma could ever get on together. Mamma's impossible little babyish character, with her little fits of temper, used to drive me wild. Lot has a more accommodating nature than I!..."
"You ought to have been a boy and I a girl," said Lot, almost bitterly.
"Mais je suis très femme, moi," said Ottilie.
Her eyes grew soft and filmy and happiness lurked in her smile.
"Mais je te crois," replied Lot.
"No," continued Ottilie, "I couldn't hit it off with Mamma. Besides, I felt that I must be free. After all, there was life. I felt my voice inside me. I studied hard and seriously, for years on end. And I made a success. All my life is given to singing...."
"Why do you only sing at concerts, Ottilie? Don't you care about opera? You sing Wagner, I know."
"Yes, but I can't lose myself in a part for more than a few moments, not for more than a single scene, not for a whole evening."