The Marion daily mirror. (Marion, Ohio) 1892-1912, 1908-12-22

thought he was mad; but he still
pointed TO the statue, and went
across to 1t.
His last stroke on the right OF the
figure had exposed about three inches
of a pink, delicate, inexpressibly hu
man arm!
stood aghast, afraid to touch,
afraid even to move, the skin OF my
head creeping, all thought absolutely
paralyzed, then went back to the
settee and sat down by the side Of
Foulard. feeling more than tribe
faint He touched my arm pathetl-
cally.
Am lam ! mad, old chnp?" he
whispered.
t'No, no." answered, pulling my
self together: you're all right; IT'S
it's--hsng IT. let's have some whisky"
1went to the cupboard where Fou-
lard usually kept some refreshments,
carefully avoiding the statue, and
pulling out bottle and glass poured
out little whisky. We both drank
some hastily, then looked at one an
other more calmly.
Presently, without a word, Foulard
went up to the statue, which we had
hardly dared to glance at. followed
him, watching intently. Very gently
and with the utmost care he began
scraping and cutting away at the
chalk until the whole Of perfect.
beautifully symmetrical hand and arm
was revealed up to the shoulder His
nerves were steadier, but his excite
meht and exultation were tre-
mendous; as for me. more than once
was compelled to look round the
room at the familiar objects--the
chairs, the magazines, that mornings
"Teieeraph"-Ato convince myself that
was not plunged into some nerve.de-
stroying fantasy of sleep.
The face--the facet Foulard
eagerly whispered. Little BY little the
shoulder was disclosed to our won.
dering gaee, the white mask re-
moved. until in an hour the face was
uncovered, and we stood back awe
struck and silent, as before some pro
found, mearthly mystery.
My friend clutched my arm.
"The woman OF my dream!" he
said.
II was the form OF woman, with
face infinitely calm and sweet, and
sad, bending slightly forward. Her
eyes were closed.
Strangely enough, now the face was
visible, we felt no fear, so hushed, SO
exquisite was the enhancing beauty
disclosed; and for long we sat talking
in whispers over the marvellous thing
which had happened
When left the studio, Foulard
came with me to my rooms, for the
sake Of company; 1t would never have
done for him to be alone-he looked
i'll with the shock and the excitement;
and we agreed to lock the room door
and come again in the morning.
or course. my friend copied his
world-famous statue of THE Song Of
the Slren,' which made so great a
sensation not long ago, from the wom-
an OF his dream so suddenly given to
him-by what means It is impossible
for MS as yet to say.
On the morning when we re-entered
the room q had hardly left his slde) 4,
he began upon the final statue in mar
BILE, and labored incessantly, almost
day and night; hardly would he allow
himself time to eat, and on many days
used to force him away from the
half.completed figure to partake of a
hurried meal with me. The woman
what else can | call her-he had
stripped of all her white easement of
chalk She had been partially robed
by a flbrous garment thrown across
her bosom and dropping to her feet,
made apparently OF some peculiar
cloth that cracked when touched.
And. day after day, week after week,
she stood there while he worked ar
IDENTIFY, passionately, at this labor OF
love. Es44ar
At last 1t was ended, and with many
hope, many. a fear, the reverent fin
ishing touches were added II is need
less to describe the statue as It stands
In the hall of sweet sounds; every
one knows Of 1t, how that more than
one has said that it has a soul; how
that great musician has made Il doub-
ly immortal by composition directly
inspired by II. Foulard was famous,
and Surgent commissions poured in
upon him from all sides.
But-the woman? Was she dead. or
was she alive in some marvellous Sc
cret way unknown to modern scien-
lists, as the Indian fakirs are sup
posed TO have the power OF suspend
Ing animation for months or years to-
gether? How long had she been in
her cerement of chalk-years? Hun
dreds, thousands OF years. All these
and many more questions we dis.
cussed, and then. not knowing what
else TO do-for II was impossible to
keep the exquisite form In my friends
studio, or, in fact, II seemed anywhere
else-we called In a mutual friend
the curator of the Cranston Museum
Ia man of some skill in medicine and
ancient lore. After his first utter OF
surprise and incredulity, he ventured
many hypothesis, both plausible and