labourer's part was done, marks and points placed, until little by
little, the stone became a body, a shape of beauty--the Psyche--as
charming as was the woman made by God. The massive stone became a
soaring, dancing, airy, light and graceful Psyche, with a heavenly,
innocent smile, the smile that had been mirrored in the young
sculptor's heart.

The star, in the rosy-tinted morning saw, and partly understood what
was agitating the mind of the young man; it understood as well, the
varying colour of his checks and the glance of his eye, whilst he
created, as though inspired by God.

"You are a master like those in the days of the Greeks," said his
enchanted friends, "the world will soon admire your Psyche!"

"My Psyche," he repeated, "mine, yes, that she must be! I am also an
artist like the great departed ones! God has granted gifts of mercy to
me, and has elevated me to the highly born!"

He sank, weeping, on his knees and offered up his thanks to God--but
forgot him again for her, for her portrait in marble, for the Psyche
form, that stood before him, as though cut out of snow, blushing, in
the morning sun.

He should see her, the living, floating one, in reality; she, whose
words sounded like music. He would himself carry the tidings, that the
marble Psyche was completed, to the rich palace. He arrived, passed
through the open court-yard, where the water splashed from dolphin's
mouths into marble shells, where callas bloomed and fresh roses
blossomed. He stepped into the large, lofty hall, whose walls and