red each to bring the
other to its knees, developed his own inward strength rather than any
quiet thoughtful conversation with the German maiden. He was wont to
watch with artistic delight Lydia as sitting at her work she pondered
over her past or her future. It was impossible to have gazed on a more
lovely picture of a maiden mind buried in the sweet dream of the love
of a young life. The brow wrapt in thought, the mouth puckered up as if
seeking a kiss, the blooming cheeks, the full development of bust, on
which nature had lavished its riches with a bounteous hand, formed a
finished picture of beauty irresistible to the artist nature in Felix.
He quietly brought out one day a lump of modelling clay, and whilst
Lydia was sitting without any misgivings at her work near the window,
and dreamily listening to the breathing of the patient, the young
artist kneaded the plastic material and soon completed an exact
portrait of the thoughtful maiden. He formed the base as the calix of a
flower as he had seen in the antique busts in Rome and Florence. The
scented calix out of which Klytia arose was intended as a symbol of the
dreamy flower-life of young love, of the tender perfume full of
misgivings of a pure woman's mind, whose life is in part the existence
of a plant. Lydia became aware at last of what he was doing, as the
young Maestro looked intently at her, and then stepping to one side
appeared to be busy on some unusual piece of work. She arose and a look
of maidenlike severity came over her face on beholding a too faithful
representation of her charms. "Fie, how wrong," she blushingly
exclaimed. But the artist begged her so touchingly to resume her seat
and let him continue that she finally resigned herself. "What can I
otherwise grant him," she thought sadly, "when the heart belongs to the
other." The artist carefully examined each particular feature. "God
never created anything more beautiful than thou art," he said. When he
had finished he clapped his hands together, and repeated "splendid,
splendid" half aloud. She now stepped up quietly to him. "What mean
those leaves?"

"I have moulded thee as Goddess of flowers," he answered.

"As _Wegewarte_?" She looked up towards him with a sad smile. He
however lightly kissed her pure forehead: "As Klytia turning towards
her Sun-God." She held out her hand to him, and looked up gratefully
into his eyes. He pressed it as if bidding her farewell. Without that a
single word pas