The Prescott daily news., 1909-01-30


 faint. He touched my arm patheti- cally.
 Am lam I mad, old chap?' he whispered.
 No, mo-" 1 answered, pulling my self together; you're all right it's its-hang it, let's have some whisky
 l went to the cupboard where Foul 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. l followed him, watching intently. Very gently and with the utmost care he began scraping and cutting away at the chalk until the whole of a perfect, beautifully symmetrical hand and arm was revealed up to the shoulder. His nerves were steadier, but his excite ment and eXultation were tre-
 
 was compelled to look round the room at the familiar objects-the chairs, the magazines, that mornings "Telegraph"-to convince myself that l was not plunged into some nerve-de- stroying fantasy of sleep.
 The face-the face!" Foulard eagerly whispered. Little by little the shoulder was disclosed to our won- dering gaze, the white mask re- moved until in an hour the face was uncovered, and we stood back, ave- struck and silent, as before some pro found, unearthly mystery.
 My friend clutched my arm.
 The woman of my dream!" he said.
 It was the form of a 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 entrancing beauty disclosed; and for long We sat talking in whispers over the marvellous thing which had happened.
 When I left the studio, Foulard came with me to my rooms, for the sake of company; it 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 dcor and come again in the morning. Of course, my friend copied his world-famous statue of The Song of the Siren," 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 us as yet to say.
 On the morning when we re-entered the room q had hardly left his side) |, he began upon the final statue iI. mar ble, and labored incessaptly almost day and night; hardly would he allow himself time to eat, and on many days I used to force him away from the half-completed figure to partako 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 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 dently passionately. at this labor of love.
 At last it was ended, and with many a hope, many fear, the reverent fin ishing touches were added. It is need less to describe the statue as 1t stands in the hall of sweet sounds; every one knows of it, how that more thao one has said that it has soul; ncw that great musician has made it doub- ly immortal by composition directly inspired by it. Foulard was famous, and urgent 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- fists. as the Indian fakirs are sup Dosed 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 Greds. thousands of years? All these and many more questions we dis cussed and then, not knowing what else to do-for it was impossible to keep the exquisite form in my friends studio, or, in fact, it seemed anywhere else-we called in a mutual friend .l.s l...ua t.a.. of thn Cran StQn MuSalm