“Any commands for me,” said Milton, with deference and respect.
“Yes,” said Ouida, “you may assist in arranging the pose.”
Milton, for a few moments, attempts to place the model in the attitude, consistent with the conception of Ouida.
“Ah,” reflected Ouida, aloud, “if I can but tonight imprint on stone the image that long has haunted me, I’ll wring from men the unwilling confession that truly in my veins flows the blood of Michael Angelo.”
Her unconscious talk was interrupted by Paul, who almost sullenly said: “I do not care to work tonight.”
“Hush!” said Ouida, “breathe not. I would not have had you fail me tonight for a brace of kingdoms.”
She then crosses over to where Paul and Milton stood, saying to the latter: “Nay, not thus. Let him stand and look as though with mighty power he bears the weighty earth upon his massive shoulders. There, that is better. Go. Leave me, Milton; I would be alone with him.”
Then, like a tigress, rapidly she set to work with mallet and chisel, and while Paul stood motionless, scarcely daring to breathe, the idea that filled her brain and soul began to take living shape from the block of stone. At some length, however, she dropped her tools. They fell upon the floor with a dull thud. She crosses over to the model; then irresolutely retraced her steps, and threw herself upon a divan or sofa, as in a dream. There she lies motionless, save for a heaving breast.
Paul thinks she sleeps, and leaving his station, goes to the couch whereon she lies, and gazes upon her with strange emotion. She still seems unconscious of his presence.