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!
Leon.--It would not be proper for me to remind you of our agreement.
Jadwiga.--But nevertheless you do remind me. Thank you. My nerves are
guilty for this melancholy turn of the conversation. But I feel it is
not becoming to me. But pray be assured that I shall not again enter
that thorny path, if for no other reason than that of self-love. I,
too, amuse myself as best I can, and I return to my reminiscences only
when wearied.
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