“Never,” said the young girl innocently.
“True,” murmured the professor again. “These are the classic ideal measurements. There are no limbs like those now. Yet it is wonderful! And this gem, you say, is in England?”
“Yes.”
“Good! I am going there in a few days. I shall make a pilgrimage to see it. Until then, mademoiselle, I beg you to break as many of my rules as you like.”
Three weeks later she found the professor one morning standing before her picture in her private studio. “You have returned from England,” she said joyfully.
“I have,” said the professor gravely.
“You have seen the original subject?” she said timidly.
“I have NOT. I have not seen it, mademoiselle,” he said, gazing at her mildly through his glasses, “because it does not exist, and never existed.”
The young girl turned pale.
“Listen. I have go to England. I arrive at the Park of Domesday. I penetrate the beautiful, wild garden. I approach the fountain. I see the wonderful water, the exquisite light and shade, the lilies, the mysterious reeds—beautiful, yet not as beautiful as you have made it, mademoiselle, but no statue—no river god! I demand it of the concierge. He knows of it absolutely nothing. I transport myself to the noble proprietor, Monsieur le Duc, at a distant chateau where he has collected the ruined marbles. It is not there.”