The Artist consents, and conceals himself in order to work unobserved.
The World goes in search of Human Nature, while the Artist looks about for some hiding-place. Love points to a cross near by, and says that as the first offence was committed in a tree, this one will witness his vengeance.
The Artist calls for his colors, and Love presents him with a box, in opening which his hands are stained a bloody red.
“Take this!”
“It is all carmine.”
“I have no other color.”
“Do not let it afflict thee, Love, that blood must retouch what Sin has blotted. The brushes!”
Love hands him three nails—“Here they are!”
“How sharp and cruel! What can be the canvas for such brushes!”
Love gives him a canvas in the shape of a heart—“a heart.”