In the studio, handsome Raoul Dauvray bends glowing eyes on the clay which models the classic beauty of Isabel Valois. The sabre scar on his bronzed face burns red as he directs the changes of his lovely model. Neither a Phryne nor an Aphrodite, but "the Unawakened Venus." A dreamy light flickers in her eyes, as she meets the burning gaze of an artist lover. Fighting hard against the current, the heiress of millions affects not to understand. It is "Monsieur Raoul," "Mademoiselle Isabel;" and all the while, their hearts beat in unison. Raoul, soldier-artist, Frenchman, and lover, dissembles when Villa Rocca is present. There is a strange constraint in the girl's dark eyes, as her idle hands cross themselves, in unconscious pose, when they are alone. "Lift your eyes a little, mademoiselle. Look steadily at me," is his gentle request. He can hear the clock tick as if its beat was the fail of a trip hammer. When even his fastidious task can no longer delay, he says, as the afternoon sun gilds the dome of the Invalides, throwing down his graver, "Je n'en puis plus, mademoiselle. It is finished. I will release you now." As Raoul throws the cloth over the clay model, Isabel passes him with a gasp, and gazes with set face from the window. His bursting heart holds him back. There is no longer an excuse. "And I shall see you no more, Monsieur Raoul?" the heiress of millions softly says. "Not till this is in marble, mademoiselle. A poor artist does not mingle in your own gay world." "But a soldier of France is welcome everywhere," the girl falters. A mist rises to Raoul's eyes. He bears the cross of the Legion of Honor on his breast. The perfume from her hair is blown across his face. "Les violettes de Parme." The artist sinks in the soldier. Springing to the window, the girl's assenting hand, cold as ice, is clasped in his palm. "Isabel!" he cries. She trembles like a leaf. "May the soldier ask what the artist would not dare?" He is blind with passion. The lovely dark-eyed girl turns a splendid face upon him, her eyes filled with happy tears, and cries: "Captain, you saved my life!" The noisy clock ticks away; the only sound beside its clang is the beating hearts which close in love's first embrace, when the soldier knows he has won the heart of the Pearl of Paris. "Your rank, your millions, your guardian! The Count Villa Rocca, my enemy!" he hoarsely whispers. The clinging beauty hands him the ribbon from her throat. "Claim me with this!" she cries as his arms enfold her. The dream of young love; first love; true love. Every obstacle fades away: Lagunitas' millions; proud guardian; scheming duenna; watchful Villa Rocca. The world is naught to the two whose arms bind the universe in love's golden circle, Raoul murmurs to the glowing maiden in his arms: "And can you trust me?" The splendid beauty clasps him closer, whispering softly: "A Spanish girl loves once and to the death."