With haughty brow and scornful lip, he drew still nearer to the globe, and leaned his strong hand upon the pole.
This powerful pressure, an imperious movement, as of one taking possession, seemed to indicate, that he felt sure of governing this globe, on which he looked down from the height of his tall figure, and on which he rested his hand with so lofty and audacious an air of sovereignty.
But now he no longer smiled.

His eye threatened, and his large forehead was clad with a formidable scowl.

The artist, who had wished to paint the demon of craft and pride, the infernal genius of insatiable domination, could not have chosen a more suitable model.
When Rodin returned, the face of his master had recovered its ordinary expression.

"It is the postman," said Rodin, showing the letters which he held in his hand; "there is nothing from Dunkirk." "Nothing ?" cried his master--and his painful emotion formed a strange contrast to his late haughty and implacable expression of countenance--"nothing?
no news of my mother ?--Thirty-six hours more, then, of anxiety." "It seems to me, that, if the princess had bad news to give, she would have written.

Probably the improvement goes on." "You are doubtless right, Rodin--but no matter--I am far from easy.