Then, like a tigress, rapidly she set to work with mallet and chisel, and while Paul stood motionless, scarcely daring to breathe, the idea that filled her brain and soul began to take living shape from the block of stone. At some length, however, she dropped her tools. They fell upon the floor with a dull thud. She crosses over to the model; then irresolutely retraced her steps, and threw herself upon a divan or sofa, as in a dream. There she lies motionless, save for a heaving breast. Paul thinks she sleeps, and leaving his station, goes to the couch whereon she lies, and gazes upon her with strange emotion. She still seems unconscious of his presence. “Had I Svengali’s power, I’d mould her to my will.” Paul clenches his hand together, gazes passionately at the reclining figure, and slowly moves back to his place. She arose. “Paul, come near me,” she said, with a voice as seductive as that of a luring siren, “and sit upon this low stool.” This request was made by her following a flashing, unaccountable mental freak, that filled Paul with pleased astonishment! “I am your willing slave,” he said, as he did her bidding. “Do you love any woman?” said Ouida. “I dare not answer,” said the model. “Dare not answer? Have I not asked you? What do you fear?” said the sculptress. “Myself,” said Paul. “He who cannot master himself is like the beast of the field.” “That’s what I am. What right have I to feeling, emotion?” said the model. “Have you no hope for the years that are to come?” “If I have, I hide it so that none may see. I had one hope, but it was like reaching out after a star. Do not question me concerning it. It shall never be revealed.” “Paul,” she said, “what think you of these men who crowd about me, like moths about a candle, their tongues quick with the hollow mockery of modern insipidity?” “They are false as Judas. They drink your champagne, and then, when drunk, tell lies about you. I’d like to cut their throats, if you but speak.” “I’ll let you, in a way,” she said, looking into his black eyes with a boldness that made him breathe with a mixture of fear and delight. “How?” said he, with almost breathless quickness. “Paul,” she replied, “come nearer to me. You are a strong-limbed brute. You are base born. You are poor.” He shuddered, and was about to acquaint the woman with the story which Lawyer Salmon had told him, but some power which controls fate and destiny, restrained him, and he remained silent upon the point. “If all you say is true,” he uttered, “What then?” “Ah, Paul, you are so different to the mere puppets that cringe around and flatter me.” “If I were like these weaklings, I would not care to live.” “The very contrast attracts me,” said Ouida, dreamily. “My God!” said Paul, the truth at length dawning upon him, “can it be possible that you condescend to give me more than a mere passing reflection?” “There is, Paul. Can you not see that I adore you?”