what he said. Does the crater know that it throws forth burning lava?
He told her his love. She stood there, surprised, insulted, proud,
yes, scornful; with an expression on her face as though a damp,
clammy frog had suddenly touched her. Her cheeks coloured, her lips
grew pale, her eyes were on fire, and still black as the darkness of
night.

"Frantic creature! Away, away!" said she, as she turned her back upon
him. Her face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like unto the Medusa's
head with its serpent locks. He descended to the street, a weak,
lifeless thing; he entered his room like a night-walker, and in the
rage of his grief, he seized his hammer, brandished it high in the air
and sought to destroy the beautiful marble form. He did not
observe--so excited was he--that Angelo, his friend, stood near him,
and arrested his arm with a firm grasp.

"Have you become mad? What would you do?" They struggled with each
other. Angelo was the stronger, and with a deep drawn breath, he
threw the young artist on a chair.

"What has occurred?" asked Angelo, "Collect yourself! Speak!"

What could he say? What could he tell? As Angelo could not seize the
thread of his discourse, he let it drop.

"Your blood grows thick with this eternal dreaming! Be human, like
others and live not in the clouds! Drink, until you become slightly
intoxicated, then you will sleep well! The young girl from the
Campagna, is as beautiful as the princess in the marble palace, they
are both daughters of Eve, and can not be distinguished one from the
other in Paradise! Follow your Angelo! I am your good angel, the angel
of your life! A time will come when you are old, when the body will
dwindle and some beautiful sunshiny day, when everything laughs and
rejoices, you will lie like a withered straw! I do not believe what
the priests say, that there is a life beyond the grave! It is a pretty
fancy, a fairy tale for children, delightful to think upon. I do not
live in imagination, but in reality! Come with me! Become a man!"

He drew him away, he could do this now, for there was a fire in the
young artist's blood, a change in his soul; an ardent desire to tear
himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts;
to forget his old self--and to-day he followed Angelo.

In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists;
it was built in the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst the dark
shining foliage, hung large yellow le