her ears with the water, and how her eyelashes stick to her cheek--Poor
girl."

"But see how happy she looks. Why should we pity one who can smile like
that? See how peaceful she looks;" and with a sudden whim, Antony took
the image and set it lying back on a soft cushion in a corner of the
couch, at the same time throwing round its neck his black cloak, which
he had cast off as he came in.

The image nestled into the cushion as though it had veritably been a
living woman weary for sleep, and softly smiling that it was near at
last. So comfortable she seemed, you could have sworn she breathed.

Antony lifted her head once or twice with his fingers, to delight
himself with seeing her sink back luxuriously once more.

Beatrice grew more and more white.

"Antony, please stop. I cannot bear it. She looks so terribly alive."

At that moment Antony's touch had been a little too forcible, the image
hung poised for a moment and then began to fall in the direction of
Beatrice.

"Oh, she is falling," she almost screamed, as Antony saved the cast from
the floor. "For God's sake, stop!"

"How childish of you, Beatrice. She is only plaster. I never knew you
such a baby."