Fairfax had observed.

"That," Fairfax heard one of his neighbours say, "is Mr. Cedersholm's
fiancee, Mrs. Faversham."

Fairfax raised his eyes to the statue. There was a slight commotion as
the workmen ranged the ropes. Then, very gracefully, evidently proud as
a queen, the lady, followed by Mr. Cedersholm, went up to the pedestal,
took the ropes in her gloved hands, and there was a flutter and the
conventional covering slipped and fell to the earth. There was an
exclamation, a murmur, the released voices murmured their praise,
Cedersholm was surrounded. Fairfax, immovable, stood and gazed.

The pedestal was of shell-pink marble, carved in delicate bas-relief.
Many of the drawings Antony had made. Isis with her cap of Upper and
Lower Egypt, Hathor with the eternal oblation--the Sphinx.... God and
the Immortals alone knew who had made it.

On its great, impassive face, on its ponderous body, there was no
signature, no name. Under the four corners, between Sphinx and pedestal,
crouched four bronze creatures, their forms and bodies visible between
the stones of the pink pedestal and the soft blue of the Egyptian
granite. The bold, severe modelling, their curious primitive conception,
the life and realism of the creatures were poignant in their suggestion
of power. The colour of the bronze was beautiful, would be more
beautiful still as the years went on. The beasts supported the Egyptian
monument. They rested between the pedestal and the Sphinx; they were the
support and they were his. They seemed, to the man who had made them,
beautiful indeed. Forgetting his outrage and his revenge, in the artist,
Fairfax listened timidly, eagerly, for some word to be murmured in the
crowd, some praise for his Beasts.

He heard many.

The students at his side were enthusiastic, they had made studies from
the moulds; moulds of the Beasts were already in the Metropolitan
Museum. The young critics were lavish, profuse. They compared the
creatures with the productions of the Ancients.

"Cedersholm is a magician, he is one of the greatest men of his
time...."

The man in working clothes smiled, but his expression was gentler than
it had been hitherto. He lifted his soft hat and ran his fingers through
his blond hair and remained bareheaded in the May air that blew about
him; his fascinated eyes were fastened on the Abydos Sphinx, magnetized
by the calm, inscrutable melancholy, by the serene indifference. The
stony eyes were fixed