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2ARIADNE.know whether his work wore well. ButImadeenough tolive onand get bread for Pales. Thatsufficed.Very oftenIwould go and look at my lostHercnesin the gallery of the Vatican. Imightas well never have soldhim;butwe know everythingtoo late.And when the gaping foreign crowds,allfrothytalk,andnota shred of knowledge orof reverenceamidst them, gathered round the pedestal hestood on, and praised him,Iwanted to cry outto them, " Stand aside, ye fools — he is mine."But he was not mine any more.SometimesIused to wonder, would she besorryif she knew thatIhad lost him?But no doubt he was better there, and morefittingly in place with the Jupiter Anxur in thepalace of the Pope. Ihad never been greatenough for him;Ihad only loved him, and whatuse is that?Time wore away,Isay, and took the days andthe weeks and the months, and Rome was sweptwith the by-winds of winter and scorched withthe sand-blasts of the summer, and its travertine