e"--there was only a cursory glance at the
beacon; his eyes were on this fresh, glorious, wonderful woman, whose
white dress of some marvellous texture draped about her with such
exquisite, dainty grace ... and the throat was bare, and full, and
white as ivory is white ... that glint of bronze that was always
playing over the massive coils of hair ... the playful severity in the
pursed lips ... it was intoxication, it was fire ... he had been drunk
with it all the night, all that morning in the boat while he had fished.

"Then why did you not tell me about it last night?" she demanded.

With a start, he shrugged his shoulders--and perplexity came.

"But it is nothing--that," he said slowly. "What was there to tell,
mademoiselle?"

"Nothing!" She stared at him in amazement. "Do you really mean to say
that you think it is--nothing?"

"But, of course!" he said simply.

And then suddenly she smiled, and shook her head at him again.

"Did I not tell you last night, Jean, that you were less like a
fisherman than any man I had ever seen?"

"Yes; mademoiselle said that." Was there a word of hers that he had
forgotten!

"Very well, then," she began magisterially, "since you think nothing of
that little statue, I will tell you what I think. It is so much more
than 'nothing' that I am going to buy it from you. It is"--her voice
changed suddenly, soft in abandon, full in admiration--"oh, Jean, it is
superb, magnificent; it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen;
and--and I think I want it more than I have ever wanted anything
before."

She had come closer to him, touched him, her hand was on his sleeve,
her cheeks were flushed. That look--God, was he mad?--that _same_ look
was in her eyes again. Yes, he was mad--with a madness that bade him
sweep her into his arms and crush her there in all her alluring beauty.
He was white--he felt the blood leave his face. She wanted
that--wanted that bit of clay that _he_ had made!

"It is not for sale, mademoiselle," he said hoarsely; "it is yours."

"No, no, Jean!" she cried. "You do not understand. It is worth--oh, I
do not know how much--ever so much money. Father will be able to tell
us. It is on account of this that he rushed off to try and find you.
He is terribly excited about it."

His hand at his side was clenched; his arm was rigid--he dared not move
it for fear she might draw her hand away--it would not come often, a
touch of intimacy like that. Wh