y under the full
flood of rose-coloured light, the just finished statue of a girl stood
on a raised platform. She was looking up, and held a cup in one lifted
hand, as if to catch the red wine of sunset. Her draperies, confined by
a Greek ceinture under the young bust, fell from shoulder to foot in
long clear lines that seemed cut in gleaming stone. The illusion was
perfect. Even in that ruddy blaze the delicate, draped form appeared to
be of carved marble. It was almost impossible to believe it that of a
living woman, and its grace of outline and pose was so perfect that
Stephen, in his love of beauty, dreaded the first movement which must
change, if not break, the tableau. He said to himself that there was
some faint resemblance between this chiselled loveliness and the vivid
charm of the pretty child he had met on the boat. He could imagine that
a statue for which she had stood as model might look like this, though
the features seemed to his eye more regular than those of the girl.

As he gazed, the music, which had been rich and colourful, fell into
softer notes; and the rose-sunset faded to an opal twilight, purple to
blue, blue to the silver of moonlight, the music changing as the light
changed, until at last it was low and slumberous as the drip-drip of a
plashing fountain. Then, into the dream of the music broke a sound like
the distant striking of a clock. It was midnight, and all the statues
in the sculptor's bare, white studio began to wake at the magic stroke
which granted them a few hours of life.

There was just a shimmer of movement in the dim corners. Marble limbs
stirred, marble face turned slowly to gaze at marble face; yet, as if
they could be only half awakened in the shadows where the life-giving
draught of moonlight might not flow, there was but the faintest flicker
of white forms and draperies. It was the just finished statue of the
girl which felt the full thrill of moonshine and midnight. She woke
rapturously, and drained the silver moon-wine in her cup (the music told
the story of her first thought and living heart-beat): then down she
stepped from the platform where the sculptor's tools still lay, and
began to dance for the other statues who watched in the dusk, hushed
back into stillness under the new spell of her enchantments.

Stephen had never seen anything like that dance. Many pretty _premieres
danseuses_ he had admired and applauded, charming and clever young women
of France, of Russi