Would you have me go on singing operas? I don't want to appear
unreasonable, but how could I go on singing even if I wished to go
on? The taste has changed; you will admit that light opera is the
fashion, and I shouldn't succeed in light opera. Whatever I do you
praise, but you know in the bottom of your heart there are only a few
parts which I play well. You may deceive yourself, you do so because
you wish to do so, but I have no wish to deceive myself and I know
that I was never a great singer; a good singer, an interesting
singer in certain parts if you like, but no more. You will admit
that?"

"No, I don't admit anything of the kind. If you leave the stage what
will you do with your time? Your art, your friends--"

"No one can figure anybody else's life: everybody has interests and
occupations, not things that interest one's neighbour, but things
that interest herself."

"So it is because light opera has come into fashion again that you
are going to give up singing? Such a thing never happened before: a
woman who succeeded on the stage, who has not yet failed, whose
voice is still fresh, who is in full possession of her art, to say
suddenly, 'Money and applause are nothing to me, I prefer a few
simple nuns to art and society.' Nothing seems to happen in life,
life is always the same; _rien ne change mais pourtant tout arrive_,
even the rare event of a successful actress relinquishing the
stage."

"It is odd," she said as they followed the path through the wintry
wood, startled now and again by a rabbit at the end of the alley, by