I had seen it and wondered at it until it was explained to me that the better Greek notion of Bacchus as the god of enthusiasm had been restored to the Dionysan cult. Then I perceived that Anna had given to the wine god something of the discontent that lends charm to the statues of Antinoüs. "Anna's thought doubtless is," said I, "that the highest enthusiasm springs from a sense of an unsatisfied need." "Well, I like to look at it but I don't care to think about it. I like just to toast my toes by the fire these long winter evenings and know that our storehouse is full and our boys happy. But I do wish Anna would marry Phaines." Assuredly, thought I, man is a variable thing--constructed upon lines so different that it is surprising one variety of man can at all understand the other. And yet, in view of the variety of occupations in which man must engage if he wants to satisfy his complex needs, how fortunate that the Mater could be happy only on her farm, and Anna happy only in her studio! And for the Mater and Phaines the question of marriage with Anna was one that could tarry for its solution year after year; while for Anna, her love for Ariston tormented her life, intruded into her art, saddened and inspired it. I was interested, however, to discover that she had escaped from the thraldom of it for the time at any rate; for on the next day, when I peeped into her studio early in the morning, she no longer threw a cloth over her clay, but, on the contrary, beckoned me in. And I saw dimly growing out of a gigantic mass of clay the noble lineaments of an old man with shaggy projecting eyebrows and a beard that rivalled that of the Moses of Michael Angelo. "It is only the bust," she said. She looked very lovely as with suppressed excitement she explained to me her thought, and her eyes usually dim grew bright. "It is to be a colossal figure, standing; I think there is something in it that is going to be suggested by the Creator of the Sixtine chapel as he stands creating Eve; but then, too, I see in the clay before me something more kindly, reminding me rather of Prospero; and yet he is to be triumphant; I think one arm will be lifted, half in joy and half in benediction, but his brow will be thoughtful and sad." "And you have got rid of Ariston altogether?" asked I. She blushed and pouted a little. "You must never speak to me of Ariston again. I am glad to be free from him, in this at any rate--and it is your Tithonus that has rescued me. If I were to put a legend to this sculpture--of course, I won't--but if I were to do so, it should be 'Me only, cruel immortality consumes.'" "And yet this would express only a small part of the whole thing."