"Only the eternal lamp is still burning before the altar, but the moon shines through the arched windows, and it is as bright as day within. The godlike woman sees a brown, wooden, life-sized figure seated on a high throne. Two glass eyes glare upon her, and on the head flames a golden crown; a mantle of red velvet falls about the angular shoulders, and on her knees lies a wax child in swaddling clothes. She approaches quite near, and touches the mantle, and plucks at the heavy folds; whereupon the clasp on the neck of the image becomes unfastened, and the lean, wooden body appears, looking ghastly enough. A shudder creeps over the beautiful woman as she sees this image before her in all its lean, worm-eaten ugliness. 'Ah!' she thinks to herself, 'this princess's mantle will become me better than it does that old piece of carving!' and begins to wrap herself in its heavy folds, which give forth an odor of incense; and then she sets the crown on her head, and asks her boy whether she pleases him. But he only blinks at her a little, for he is tired to death. Then she takes pity on the poor child, lifts the image from its gilded throne, and the wax infant rolls to the ground and is dashed to pieces. She does not heed this, however, but mounts the steps and seats herself in the chair under the canopy, and the little Amor nestles warm in her lap, and, half covered by the velvet mantle, falls asleep on her heavenly bosom. All around her it is still; no sound is heard but the whirr of the bats as they fly hither and thither under the high dome, not daring to light on the crown of the stranger as they were accustomed to do upon the wooden image, being frightened away by the brightness of her eyes; until at last the eyes close, and the mother and son sleep quietly on their throne above the altar.