Aspasia seated, with a scroll and stylus, Laïs leaning over her, and
Phryné at her feet looking up, all draped, artistically _posed_, and the
three beautiful girls that perform the parts look as like marble as
possible.

'Now, Phidias,' cries Diogenes, 'come, what have you to say to your
marble girls?'

'Laïs, Aspasia, Phryné, I am Phidias. You owe me your existence, and I
love you; you know it, and that I am poor.'

'That's a bad argument, Phidias,' says Diogenes.

'I am poor, and have nothing but you. Stay by him to whom you owe your
glory and your immortality!'

The statues remain immovable.

Gorgias addresses them: 'I am Gorgias, the rich Athenian; I alone am as
rich as all the kings of Asia, and I offer you a palace paved with gold.
Aspasia, Laïs, Phryné, which of us do you choose?'

The statues turn their heads and smile faintly on Gorgias, who starts
and stands as if petrified. The Athenians look horror-struck. Phidias
covers his face with his hands, and, uttering a cry, falls to the
ground. A soft and enervating strain of music fills the air.

'By all the gods!' cries Gorgias, 'I believe the statues moved their
lips as if to smile upon me.'