In the early days of July he found himself once more alone in the empty studio, where he had worked for twelve months at the "Open Door."
The place where the huge marble had stood was empty; in its stead fame remained.
Looking back, it seemed now that his hardships had not been severe enough. Had success really come? Would it stay? Was he only the child of an hour? Could he sustain? He recalled the little statuettes which he had made out of the clay of the levee when he was a boy. He remembered his beautiful mother's praise—
"Why, Tony, they are extraordinary, my darling."
And the constant fever had run through his veins all his life. He had made his apprenticeship over theft and death. He said to himself—
"I shall sustain."
As he mused there, the praise he had received ringing in his ears, he entertained fame and saw the shadow of laurel on the floor, under the lamplight, where his marble had stood, long and white.
He had made warm friends and bound them to him. He loved the city and its beauties. His refinement and sense of taste had matured. Antony knew that in his soul he was unaltered, that he was marked by his past, and that the scars upon him were deep.
He was very much alone; there was no one with whom he could share his glory. Should he become the greatest living sculptor, to whom could he bring his honours, his joys?
For a long time Bella went with him in everything he did. His visions were banished by the vivid thought