“Who, baby?”
“You and I! Much more insignificant than Brauws?”
“I think so.”
“Are we small?”
“Small?”
“Yes, are we small souls ... and is he ... is he a big one?”
“Perhaps, Marianne.”
“Yes, I’m a small one. And you too ... I think. He’s not. No, he’s one of the big ones ... though he is eating pâté just now. But I, a small soul, shall always like small souls best. I like you much better than him.”
“And yet he is more interesting than I; and one doesn’t come across many big souls.”
“No, but I like you best. I daren’t talk to him again. I should start quarrelling with him at once. Straight away. I could never quarrel with you. That’s the sympathy between small soul ... and small soul. Tell me, is your insignificance attracted to mine also?”