In the studio, handsome Raoul Dauvray bends glowing eyes on the clay which models the classic beauty of Isabel Valois. The sabre scar on his bronzed face burns red as he directs the changes of his lovely model. Neither a Phryne nor an Aphrodite, but "the Unawakened Venus."
A dreamy light flickers in her eyes, as she meets the burning gaze of an artist lover.
Fighting hard against the current, the heiress of millions affects not to understand.
It is "Monsieur Raoul," "Mademoiselle Isabel;" and all the while, their hearts beat in unison.
Raoul, soldier-artist, Frenchman, and lover, dissembles when Villa Rocca is present. There is a strange constraint in the girl's dark eyes, as her idle hands cross themselves, in unconscious pose, when they are alone.
"Lift your eyes a little, mademoiselle. Look steadily at me," is his gentle request. He can hear the clock tick as if its beat was the fail of a trip hammer.
When even his fastidious task can no longer delay, he says, as the afternoon sun gilds the dome of the Invalides, throwing down his graver, "Je n'en puis plus, mademoiselle. It is finished. I will release you now."
As Raoul throws the cloth over the clay model, Isabel passes him with a gasp, and gazes with set face from the window.
His bursting heart holds him back. There is no longer an excuse.
"And I shall see you no more, Monsieur Raoul?" the heiress of millions softly says.