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“That idiot of a Santiuste,” Manuel heard him mutter, “says that not completing a work of art is a sign of impotence. And he looked at me as he spoke! But why should I pay any attention to what that idiot says?”

Since nobody could gave a satisfactory reply to the sculptor’s query, he continued to measure the length of the room, bewailing in a loud voice the stupidity and the enviousness of his comrades.

Then, his fury abated, he took the candle, brought it close to the group called The Exploited, and examined it for a long time minutely. He saw that Manuel was not asleep, and asked him frankly:

“Have you ever seen anything more colossal than this?”

“It’s a mighty rare thing,” answered Manuel.

“I should say it is!” replied Alex. “It possesses the rareness of all works of genius. I don’t know whether there’s anybody in the world capable of producing the like. Rodin, maybe. H’m.... Who can say? Where do you think I’d place this group?”

“I don’t know.”

“In a desert. On a pedestal of rough, unadorned, squared granite. What an effect it would produce. Hey?”