"I mean from the artistic point of view. She is an artist,--outside of
her painting, which obviously is execrable."
"But she is not beautiful. I don't even think her very pretty."
"She is quite pretty enough for her purposes, and it is a face and
figure on which everything tells. If she were prettier she would be less
intelligent, and her intelligence is half of her charm."
"In what way," asked Newman, who was much amused at his companion's
immediate philosophization of Mademoiselle Nioche, "does her
intelligence strike you as so remarkable?"
"She has taken the measure of life, and she has determined to BE
something--to succeed at any cost. Her painting, of course, is a mere
trick to gain time. She is waiting for her chance; she wishes to launch
herself, and to do it well. She knows her Paris. She is one of fifty
thousand, so far as the mere ambition goes; but I am very sure that
in the way of resolution and capacity she is a rarity. And in one
gift--perfect heartlessness--I will warrant she is unsurpassed. She
has not as much heart as will go on the point of a needle. That is an
immense virtue. Yes, she is one of the celebrities of the future."
"Heaven help us!" said Newman, "how far the artistic point of view may
take a man! But in this case I must request that you don't let it take
you too far.
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