_I_.
An idea; one of these days I will write my confessions! Again I tell you
that nothing really matters to me but art. And, knowing this, you
chatter of the unwisdom of my not concluding my novel with some foolish
moral.... Nothing matters to me but art.
_Conscience_.
Would you seduce the wretched servant girl if by so doing you could
pluck out the mystery of her being and set it down on paper?