“You ...” said the man to the girl’s lips. “You are really the great mediatress.... You are all that is most sacred on earth.... You are all goodness.... You are all grace.... To doubt you is to doubt God.... Maria—Maria—you called me—here I am!”
Behind them, in a vault that was shaped like a pointed devil’s-ear, one man leant towards another man’s ear.
“You wanted to have the Futura’s face from me.... There you have your model....”
“Is that a commission?”
“Yes.”
“Now you must go, Freder,” said the girl. Her Madonna-eyes looked at him.
“Go—and leave you here?”
She turned grave and shook her head.