Now, as he waited for his visitor, he wondered if Mary Cedersholm had visited the Salon, if with others she had stood before his sculpture. His servant announced "Monsieur Cedersholm," then let in the visitor and shut the door behind him. Cedersholm entered the vast studio in the soft light of late afternoon with which the spring twilight, rapidly withdrawing, filled the room. Antony did not stir from his chair, where he sat enveloped in a cloud of tobacco smoke. The small man--Fairfax had forgotten how small he was--entered cautiously as though he were entering the room of a foe, which, indeed, he was doing, without being aware of it. Fairfax remembered that he had seen Cedersholm wearing a single eyeglass, and now spectacles of extraordinary thickness covered his eyes. He evidently saw with difficulty. As Fairfax did not rise to greet him, Cedersholm approached, saying tentatively-- "Mr. Rainsford? I believe I have an appointment with Mr. Rainsford." "Yes," said Fairfax curtly, "I am here. Sit down, will you?" His lame foot, which would have disclosed his identity, was withdrawn under his chair. "I have just come from the Soudan," said Cedersholm, "where I had a sunstroke of the eyes. I see badly." "Blindness," said Fairfax shortly, "is a common failing, but many of us don't know we have anything the matter with our eyes." "It is, however, a tragedy for a sculptor," said Cedersholm, taking the chair to which Fairfax had pointed. From the box on the table Fairfax offered his guest a cigar, which was refused. Antony lit a fresh one; it was evident he had not been recognized. "I have not touched a tool for five years," Cedersholm said. "A man like you who must adore his work can easily imagine what this means." "For two or three years I did not touch a tool. I know what it means." "Ah!" exclaimed Cedersholm with interest. "What was your infirmity?" "Poverty," returned Fairfax. Then added, "You have not come to talk with me about the short and simple annals of the poor." "All that which goes to make the education and career of a great man," said Cedersholm, "is deeply interesting, especially to a confrere. You have executed a very great piece of work, Mr. Rainsford." Fairfax made no response. "You seem," said Cedersholm, "to doubt my sincerity. You received my letter?" "Yes." "Would you be reluctant to undertake such a work?" The man who stood before Fairfax was so altered from his former self that Tony was obliged to whip up his memories, to call up all his past in order to connect this visitor with the man who had ruined him. Pale, meagre, so thin that his clothes hung upon him, disfigured by his thick glasses, he seemed to have shrunk into a little insignificant creature. No man could connect him with the idea of greatness or success. Fairfax answered it would depend upon circumstances.