At that moment the master descended the ladder, and drawing a deep breath, said:—­

“There—­that will do.  One can never finish.  I shall not put another stroke to it.  I am afraid that retouching would only injure it.  It is done.”

In the master’s words and manner, struggling effort and calm content seemed mingled.  He laid the chisel aside.  Irma looked at him earnestly and said:—­

“You are a happy man; but I can imagine that you are still unsatisfied.  I don’t believe that even Raphael or Michael Angelo was ever satisfied with the work he had completed.  The remnant of dissatisfaction which an artist feels at the completion of a work is the germ of a new creation.”

The master nodded his approval of her words.  His eyes expressed his thanks.  He went to the water-tap and washed his hands.  Then he placed himself near Irma and looked at her, while telling her that in every work an artist parts with a portion of his life; that the figure will never again inspire the same feelings that it did while in the workshop.  Viewed from afar, and serving as an ornament, no regard would be had to the care bestowed upon details.  But the artist’s great satisfaction in his work is in having pleased himself; and yet no one can accurately determine how, or to what extent, a conscientious working up of details will influence the general effect.

While the master was speaking, the King was announced.  Irma hurriedly spread a damp cloth over her clay model.

The King entered.  He was unattended, and begged Irma not to allow herself to be disturbed in her work.  Without looking up, she went on with her modeling.  The King was earnest in his praise of the master’s work.

“The grandeur that dwells in this figure will show posterity what our days have beheld.  I am proud of such contemporaries.”

Irma felt that the words applied to her as well.  Her heart throbbed.  The plaster which stood before her suddenly seemed to gaze at her with a strange expression.

“I should like to compare the finished work with the first models,” said the king to the artist.

“I regret that the experimental models are in my small atelier.  Does your Majesty wish me to have them brought here?”

“If you will be good enough to do so.”

The master left.  The King and Irma were alone.  With rapid steps the King mounted the ladder, and exclaimed in a tremulous voice:—­

“I ascend into heaven—­I ascend to you.  Irma, I kiss you, I kiss your image, and may this kiss forever rest upon those lips, enduring beyond all time.  I kiss thee with the kiss of eternity.”  He stood aloft and kissed the lips of the statue.  Irma could not help looking up, and just at that moment a slanting sunbeam fell on the King and on the face of the marble figure, making it glow as if with life.

Irma felt as if wrapped in a fiery cloud, bearing her away into eternity.