They stood whilst Gérôme’s students passed. And as they so stood in strange dignity, the emblems of imperial Rome above them, the battle-axes bound in faggots, and the motto _Death to Tyrants_ emblazoned between, as they so stood beneath the row of heads that dripped the blood of the dead tyrants, there floated across the ages some whisper of the eternal struggle of life, of the survival of the fittest, and of the crowning mystery of the incarnation of man through the beauty of woman.... As the clocks struck three, there was a rush of revellers towards the procession of waiters who appeared in white aprons carrying chairs and tables and plates and glasses. In a trice the place was a great banqueting-hall, white with the napery of a hundred tables. The students collected about the boards of their different studios, thundering for supper with fist-banged poundings upon the tables, and the singing of songs; which gave way to a roar of applause when the army of waiters reappeared laden with wine and the dishes of the feast. And as they ran backwards and forwards, their white aprons flying, there was the clink of glass amid the babel of a thousand tongues, and the clatter and roar of merry-making. When Gérôme’s students arose from their table in a body, and the company of gladiators and Greek and Roman soldiery moved in an orderly array towards the judges’ tribune, they were greeted with thunders of applause, which burst out again on their return, laden with the prize of victory, bottles of wine. They swept round to their tables; and, opening their ranks, took possession of their seats. The massier rapped upon the table, and called for silence. Standing before them, statuesque in a splendid girdle with the embroidered cloth hanging therefrom before and behind, stood Suzanne, jewels glittering in her ruddy hair. They all stood up and greeted her with a shout. The massier filled a glass: “To the queen--the victors!” he cried. They all drank to her. As they sat down, she leaped lightly upon the table; stooped down; took up a bottle of champagne in each hand, and flinging wide the amber wine for baptism of victory over the encircling students, she threw the empty bottle from her. She laughed with mischievous glee, sent the glass and china flying with sandaled foot, to clear a space upon the table, and, raising the bottle, bathed her bare shoulders in the foaming wine before the assembled company. There was a call for a dance--and the orchestra striking up the quaint pulsing music of a Moorish measure, Suzanne, her feet stepping it upon the snow-white tablecloth, swung her graceful way through a strange haunting dance of Arabia. With slow step and dainty feet that never hurried, the beautiful young woman strutted, in pride of her body’s perfection, upon the white carpet of the tablecloth.