"Avoid the convent, my dear friend, as you would shun the death of the soul! But, for my own part, if I had an insupportable burden,--if, for any cause, I were bent upon sacrificing every earthly hope as a peace-offering towards Heaven,--I would make the wide world my cell, and good deeds to mankind my prayer.

Many penitent men have done this, and found peace in it." "Ah, but you are a heretic!" said the Count.
Yet his face brightened beneath the stars; and, looking at it through the twilight, the sculptor's remembrance went back to that scene in the Capitol, where, both in features and expression, Donatello had seemed identical with the Faun.

And still there was a resemblance; for now, when first the idea was suggested of living for the welfare of his fellow-creatures, the original beauty, which sorrow had partly effaced, came back elevated and spiritualized.

In the black depths the Faun had found a soul, and was struggling with it towards the light of heaven.
The illumination, it is true, soon faded out of Donatello's face.

The idea of lifelong and unselfish effort was too high to be received by him with more than a momentary comprehension.