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The Sculptor's Triumph.

around her flexible waist, and flowing into folds that clung to her slight form and revealed its undulating outlines. Her long hair enveloped her like a golden cloud. With unstudied ease, she at once threw herself into the attitude of the penitent Mary, and remained motionless. Andrea contemplated her in almost breathless silence, then took up his chisel and gave a few light touches to the marble, then drew back, and gazed upon the living form, glowing with life and beauty, and upon its inanimate copy. Carried away by an ungovernable emotion, he suddenly flung aside the chisel, and burst into tears.

Constanza sprang up and hastened to his side, but his agitation was so violent that he seemed unconscious of her presence. With gentle force she drew away the hands that covered his face, and gathered up her flowing tresses as though to wipe his eyes. Well might the mingled archness and poetry of the action make him smile.

"Your Mary will win the prize, Andrea! I am sure of it!"

"Will it win both prizes, this above all?" answered Andrea, taking her hand.

"Yes, one now, and the other in time. Perhaps," she added, laughing, "when there are a few wrinkles here for you to add to your Mary's brow, that the likeness may be retained. But see how the sun is marching up the heavens! Come, Bettina, it warns us to be on our way."

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