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112 ARIADNE.perishedinher, and this pained me most of all.It seemed as if when that clay figure hadcrumbled down into a heap of grey earth inParis, all the genius in her had passed awaywith it.Ihoped always that the sight of the marbleswould awake itinher once more, as the sight ofthe tawny Tiber rolling beneath the moon hadbrought back her reason. But she passed by thenoble things that she had worshipped as thoughthey were not there, and looked in the face ofthe Dioscuri, and knew them not, for any signshe gave.Iwould have spoken to Maryx andasked his counsel,butIdared not do it. Hisownfate seemed to me so terrible,and his woe sosacred, thatIdared not enterhis presence.He stayed onin Rome: that was allIknew.Once or twiceIwent and saw his mother, towhomIdared not speak of Gioja, for she had apeasant's narrowness of judgment,and amother'sbitterness of exclusive love. She grew blind,and had ceased to be able to see the colours ofthe flowers in the atrium,and the sun sinning onthe roof of the pope's palace, which had made