"Well, leave it to others. Everybody is not fit for art."
"Nor for love?"
"Nor for love."
"How awful! What is left for us?"
"Housekeeping."
"Thanks," said Colette, rather annoyed. She turned to the piano and began again, made mistakes, thumped the keyboard, and moaned:
"I can't!… I'm no good at all. I believe you are right. Women aren't any good."
"It's something to be able to say so," said Christophe genially.
She looked at him rather sheepishly, like a little girl who has been scolded, and said:
"Don't be so hard."