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164 ARIADNE.saries of sculpture,and left her alone to summonwhat vision she would. Alas! no visions werepossible to her — now on the silver of the sunlight,as on the blackness of the darkness, shesaw only one face.Shut in her tower, where only the pigeonssaw her, flying about the high casements totheir homes in the roof, she held communionwith that art which now was in her only anotherform of love. In the marbles she only saw hisfeatures and his form: as the soft windstouched her cheek, she thought of his kisses;when the stars shone on her, she thought onlyof his eyes; — love is an absolute possession ofall the senses and aU the soul, orit is nothing.Therefore there are few who know love: asthere are few who are great,or do heroic deeds,or know or attain to anything which demandsintensity of character." Do not enter there," she said to me, meaningthis highest place under the roof, where the sunshone on the clay and the stones. "IfIcancontent myself — ever — thenIwiU tell you. Butit escapesme ; " and she would sit for hours