"Jean," Marie-Louise called out, "let me see it now."
"Wait!" he said almost harshly. "Wait! Wait! Wait!"
He did not hear her. There was something at the base of that statue of his dreams that always troubled him, that the people always pointed at as they gazed; but he had never been able to make out what it was there at the base of the statue. It was very strange that he was never able to see that, when he could see the figure of the woman with the wonderful face so plainly!
He worked on and on. There were neither hours nor minutes--the afternoon deepened. There was no creek, no Marie-Louise, no Bernay-sur-Mer, nothing--only those dreams and the little clay figure in his hands.
And then Marie-Louise, her face a little white, timidly touched his arm.
Her voice roused him. It seemed as though he was awakened from a sleep. He brushed the hair back from his eyes, and looked around.
"_Mon Dieu_," he said, "but that was, strange!" And then he smiled, still a little dazed, and lifted around the clay figure for her to see. "I do not know if it is finished," he said, staring at it; "but perhaps I could do no better with it even if I worked longer."
Marie-Louise's eyes, puzzled, anxious, on Jean's face, shifted to the little clay figure--and their expression changed instantly.
"But, Jean!" she cried, clasping her hands. "But, Jean, that is not a _poupée_ you have made there. It--it will never do at all! Ninon Lachance would break the arms off at the first minute, and it is too _charmante_ for that. Oh, but, Jean, it--it is _adorable_!"
Jean was inspecting the figure in a curiously abstracted way, as though he had never seen it before, turning his head now to this side, now to that, and turning the clay around and around in his hands to examine it from all angles, while a heightened colour crept into his face and dyed his cheeks. It was a small figure, hardly a foot and a half in height--the figure of a fisherwoman, barefooted, in short skirts, the clothes as though windswept clinging close around her limbs, her arms stretched out as to the sea. He laughed a little unnaturally.
"Well, then, since it will not do for Ninon Lachance, and you like it, Marie-Louise," he said a little self-consciously; "it is for you."