She was but sleeping--I could fancy: I watched one I loved in her slumbers.

My heart beat high! Ay, child, and the work I did was pure joy, such joy as only the gods on Olympus know at their golden board.

Every feature, every line was of such perfection as only the artist's soul can conceive of, nay, even dream of.

The ecstasy remained, but my unrest gave way to an indescribable and wordless bliss.

I drew with the red chalk, and mixed the colors with the grinder, and all the while I could not feel the painful sense of painting a corpse.