has already received his gold. Phidias expostulates, then entreats,--no, Gorgias will have his statues. At this, Theä, who had long loved Phidias, unknown to him, hardly noticed, never requited, throws herself at Gorgias's feet and cries, 'Take me, sell me; I am young and strong, but leave Phidias his statues.' Gorgias says, 'Who are you? Poor creature, you are not worth over fifty drachmas! Away! Guards, do your duty! Slaves, seize the statues.' Then Diogenes, hitherto half asleep on a mat in the corner, cries, 'Stop, Gorgias! You always profess justice, strict justice. Why don't you ask with whom of you the statues will prefer to stay?' A shout of laughter from his jolly companions makes Gorgias accede to this droll proposal. 'So be it!' cries he; and Diogenes draws aside the curtain, and holds up his lantern, which, with a strong French reflector, throws a powerful light on the upper part of the group, with a fine and startling effect. The group represents Aspasia seated, with a scroll and stylus, Laïs leaning over her, and Phryné at her feet looking up, all draped, artistically _posed_, and the three beautiful girls that perform the parts look as like marble as possible. 'Now, Phidias,' cries Diogenes, 'come, what have you to say to your marble girls?' 'Laïs, Aspasia, Phryné, I am Phidias. You owe me your existence, and I love you; you know it, and that I am poor.' 'That's a bad argument, Phidias,' says Diogenes. 'I am poor, and have nothing but you. Stay by him to whom you owe your glory and your immortality!' The statues remain immovable. Gorgias addresses them: 'I am Gorgias, the rich Athenian; I alone am as rich as all the kings of Asia, and I offer you a palace paved with gold. Aspasia, Laïs, Phryné, which of us do you choose?' The statues turn their heads and smile faintly on Gorgias, who starts and stands as if petrified. The Athenians look horror-struck. Phidias covers his face with his hands, and, uttering a cry, falls to the ground. A soft and enervating strain of music fills the air. 'By all the gods!' cries Gorgias, 'I believe the statues moved their lips as if to smile upon me.' 'I know you by that smile, O girls of marble,' says Diogenes,--'courtesans of the past, courtesans of the future!' and he returns to his mat. At this moment Theä's voice is heard in the far distance, singing a few mystical, mournful bars of music, and the curtain falls. This is the 'argument,'--the other four acts work it out. The next act opens in a restaurant of to-day in the Bois de Boulogne, near Paris. A young artist lives there, and falls desperately in love with an actress, for whom he leaves his art, his mother, and his betrothed, is ruined in purse, and returns at last, heart-broken, to his old home, to die; the actress all the while sees his despair with indifference, and proves herself therefore a '_fille de marbre_'