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ARIADNE. 185to her. Youlook strangely ? AVhat do youfear ?AmIso base as not to serve the geniusIfostered?My genius is dead:hers lives. ThatIcan serve atleast."" You canreach such nobility as that!""I seenothing noble.Iamnotquitebase, thatis aU. Tellher — nay,Iforgot;shemustnotknowthatitisIwho do anything — else you should teUher that her master thanks her."And with that brave and tender word he leftme and went out into the darkness.It seemed to methathis forgiveness was greatereventhan hers:since evengreater than hers washis loss.Now when the springtime of that year came,the world of the artsspokeonly of one great pieceof sculpture, shown in the public haUs, whereParis holds its rivalry of muses.Before this statue of the poet all the greatworld paused inawe and ecstasy."Is it the work of Maryx?" asked one halfthe world,and the other half answered:" No!Itis greater than any work of Maryx."And before the new youthful strength thus