And now, as he flattered himself, the true image of his friend was about to emerge from the facile material, bringing with it more of Donatello's character than the keenest observer could detect at any one moment in the face of the original Vain expectation!--some touch, whereby the artist thought to improve or hasten the result, interfered with the design of his unseen spiritual assistant, and spoilt the whole.

There was still the moist, brown clay, indeed, and the features of Donatello, but without any semblance of intelligent and sympathetic life.
"The difficulty will drive me mad, I verily believe!" cried the sculptor nervously.

"Look at the wretched piece of work yourself, my dear friend, and tell me whether you recognize any manner of likeness to your inner man ?" "None," replied Donatello, speaking the simple truth.

"It is like looking a stranger in the face." This frankly unfavorable testimony so wrought with the sensitive artist, that he fell into a passion with the stubborn image, and cared not what might happen to it thenceforward.

Wielding that wonderful power which sculptors possess over moist clay, however refractory it may show itself in certain respects, he compressed, elongated, widened, and otherwise altered the features of the bust in mere recklessness, and at every change inquired of the Count whether the expression became anywise more satisfactory.
"Stop!" cried Donatello at last, catching the sculptor's hand.