"Young De Beauvais would agree with you," said Heinrich sardonically, and added, "I regret the death of Rosing more and more every day."
"Rosing had no control over her."
"At least she respected him. But now she respects no one. No one, that is, except Varsovina."
"She is right to respect herself," Weiss argued. "She has genius."
"My dear Weiss, no one would believe you thought that who has ever seen you arguing with her over a score."
"Because she insists that she knows more about music than I do. And that," Weiss concluded feelingly, "is nothing short of absurd."
In her salon at the rue d'Antin Lina was arguing with the young Comte de Beauvais.
"You must understand, Pierre, that while I am arranging this important ballet, and later on, while I am rehearsing, I have neither the time nor the inclination to go to supper-parties. If you are really unable to realize this, it is no use our continuing together, and if I thought that we must part, then I assure you that I would be very sorry. But there is no alternative."
De Beauvais muttered, like a sulky schoolboy: "You are cruel to me, Lina. I only pester you because I love you so much, because I want to see you all the time. Surely you understand that?"
"I do," she said untruthfully, "and you can imagine that no one dislikes our separations more than I do. But a ballerina must make these sacrifices, and I have long ago accustomed myself to them. One must be courageous!"
"Oh," he sighed, "I wish that you were not a famous dancer!"
"Now why do you say that?" and she sat down at the piano, trying to play with one finger the pas d'entraine-