m, haunting him, promising to haunt him
until the end? He was always seeking to unveil the face of his visions
and find the one woman, the supplement, the mate, the companion.

Who would inspire him now? His memories, his dead, his past, had done
their work. What fresh inspiration would urge him now to create?

The public had no fault to find with him. The tomb made him celebrated
in twenty-four hours. At a time when all Paris was laughing at Rodin's
Balzac, there was a place for a sculptor like Antony, for the idealist
and dreamer, gifted with a strong and faultless technique.

He read hastily and with surprise the exaggerated praise which the "Open
Door" called forth from the reviews. "It is not as good as all that," he
thought, "and it is too soon to hear thunder about my ears."

He seemed to see the door of his future open and himself standing there,
the burden of proof upon him. What work he must continue to produce in
order to sustain such sudden fame! The _Figaro_ called him a "giant,"
and several critics said he was the sculptor of the time. His mail was
full of letters from friends and strangers. By ten o'clock the night of
the "Vernissage" all his acquaintances and intimates in Paris had
brought him their felicitations. He turned back to his table where his
letters lay. He had just read an affectionate, enthusiastic expression
of praise and belief from Potowski. There was another note which he had
read first with anger, then with keen satisfaction, and then with as
much malice as his heart could hold.

"MY DEAR SIR,

"I have the honour to represent in France the committee for the
construction in Boston of a triumphal arch to be raised in
commemoration of the men who first fell in the battle of the
Revolution. The idea is to crown this arch with a group of figures,
either realistic or symbolical, as the sculptor shall see fit.
After carefully considering the modern work of men in France, I am
inclined to offer this commission to you if you can accept it. Your
'Open Door' is the most beautiful piece of sculpture, according to
my opinion, in modern times. An appointment would gratify me very
much.

"I have the honour to be, sir, etc.,
"GUNNER CEDERSHOLM."

Antony had given the appointment with excitement, and he was waiting now
to see for the first time in ten years the man who had stolen from him
fame, honour, and love.

He had heard