ow Antony paused on the threshold of his studio,
looking back into the deserted workroom filling with the April evening.
In every corner, one by one, the visions rose and floated. They became
new statues, new creations, indistinct and ethereal. Only the space,
where the work that had been carried away to the Salon had once stood,
was bare. As he shut the door he felt that he shut the door for ever
upon his past, upon his young manhood and upon his youth.

CHAPTER II

In the early days of July he found himself once more alone in the empty
studio, where he had worked for twelve months at the "Open Door."

The place where the huge marble had stood was empty; in its stead fame
remained.

Looking back, it seemed now that his hardships had not been severe
enough. Had success really come? Would it stay? Was he only the child of
an hour? Could he sustain? He recalled the little statuettes which he
had made out of the clay of the levee when he was a boy. He remembered
his beautiful mother's praise--

"Why, Tony, they are extraordinary, my darling."

And the constant fever had run through his veins all his life. He had
made his apprenticeship over theft and death. He said to himself--

"I shall sustain."

As he mused there, the praise he had received ringing in his ears, he
entertained fame and saw the shadow of laurel on the floor, under the
lamplight, where his marble had stood, long and white.

He had made warm friends and bound them to him. He loved the city and
its beauties. His refinement and sense of taste had matured. Antony knew
that in his soul he was unaltered, that he was marked by his past, and
that the scars upon him were deep.

He was very much alone; there was no one with whom he could share his
glory. Should he become the greatest living sculptor, to whom could he
bring his honours, his joys?

For a long time Bella went with him in everything he did. His visions
were banished by the vivid thought of her. When he came into his studio
at twilight he would fancy he saw her sitting by the table.

She would lean there, not like a spirit-like woman under the shaded
lamp, sewing at little children's garments ... not like that!
Nevertheless, Bella sat there as a woman who waits for a return, the
charming figure, the charming head with its crown of dark hair, and the
lovely, brilliantly coloured face. Now there was nothing spirit-like in
Antony's picture.

Then again he would imagine that he saw he