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The Sculptor's Triumph.
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lover. How could he refuse? Day after day, before the house was astir, she and Bettina stole forth, under the pretence of taking a morning walk, and hastened to Andrea's studio. All the young artist's faculties were quickened by love and ambition. All his powers, in the fulness of their strength, were concentrated on this one work, the chef-d'œuvre which was to earn him fame and win the bright original he was duplicating.

"Are you content with your Mary, yet?" asked Constanza, looking into his dark eyes and discovering the cloud that shadowed them.

"I am never content with her when you are by! It is in vain that I have tried to give this hair the soft ripple of yours! And, oh! that I could impart to the blank marble the living hues, the changing gold of the locks, the celestial blue of the eyes, the rose-tint of the lips! The statue looks so cold and senseless when you are before me, that I am in despair!"

"Oh! Andrea, I am sure that it is perfect! But since you are dissatisfied with your work, I must sit for you once more. It will be the last time, for the judges visit the studio to-day, and tomorrow the statue will be admitted into the palace."

Before Andrea could reply, Constanza had hurried with Bettina into the ante-chamber. In a few moments she re-appeared, looking more angelic than ever, in the spotless white robe, girdled lightly

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