"Ah," murmured the young man, who was nevertheless thrilled. "He is going to do a bas-relief of me, Potowski--that is, I hope he will not refuse to make my portrait." "Ah, no," exclaimed Potowski, clasping his soft hands, "not a bas-relief, chere Madame, but a statuary, all of it. The figure, is not it, Mr. Rainsford? You hear people say of the face it is beautiful, or the hand, or the head of a woman. I think it is all of her. It should be the entirety always, I think. I think it is monstrous to dissect the parts of the human body even in art. When I go to the _Museo_ and see a hand here, a foot there, a torso somewhere else--you will laugh, I am ridiculous, but it makes me think I look at a _haccident_. "_Therefore_," exclaimed Potowski, gaily swimming toward the fruit and flowers with his soft hand, "begin, cher Monsieur, by making a whole woman! I never, never sing part of a _hopera_. I sing a lyric, a little complete song, but in its entirety." "But, my dear Potowski," Mrs. Faversham laughed, "a bas-relief or a bust is complete." "But why," cried the Pole, "why behead a lady? As for a profile, it is destruction to the human face." He turned to Fairfax. "You think I am a pagan. In France they have an impolite proverb, 'Stupid as a musician,' but don't think it is true. We see harmony and melody in everything." Apparently Potowski's lunacy had suggested something to Fairfax, for he said seriously---- "Perhaps Mrs. Faversham will let me make a figure of her some day"--he hesitated--"in the entirety," he quoted; and the words sounded madness, tremendously personal, tremendously daring. "A figure of her standing in a long cloak edged with fur, holding a little statuette in her hand." "Charming," gurgled Potowski--he had a grape in his mouth which he had culled unceremoniously from the fruit dish. "That is a very modern idea, Rainsford, but I don't understand why she should hold a statuette in her hand." "For my part," said the hostess, "I only understand what I have been taught. I am a common-place public, and I prefer a classic bas-relief, a profile, just a little delicate study. Will you make it for me, Mr. Rainsford?" The new name he had chosen, and which was never real to him, sounded pleasantly on her lips, and it gave him, for the first time, a personality. His past was slipping from him; he glanced around the oval room with its soft lights and its warm colouring. It glowed like a beautiful setting for the pearl which was the lady. The dinner before him was delicious. It ceased to be food--it was a delicate refreshment. The perfume of the flowers and wines and the cooking was intoxicating. "You eat and drink nothing," Mrs. Faversham said to him. "No," exclaimed Potowski, sympathetically, peering across the table at Rainsford. "You are suffering perhaps--you diet?" Antony drank the champagne in his glass and said he was thinking of his bas-relief.