told him he would mar the statue; that the color was not yet dry; the material, that which would not endure rude touch. But Leontes, almost beside himself, besought her to make the statue live. It seemed, in its life-like aspect, to move and breathe: might it not also speak to him? The miracle was wrought when the statue was formed; it would be adding nothing to the wonder of it, to give it voice and utterance.
With a sudden gesture of command, Paulina made them all draw back a little. Since Leontes wished it, the clay should live. She bade the music sound, and while a choir of concealed musiclans sang in soft accord, she invoked Hermione to come down from her pedestal. Then the white bosom of the statue heaved; the clasped hands stretched eagerly forward; in another moment the image became a woman, and Hermione was weeping on the bosom of her husband and in the arms of her daughter.
When Paulina’s voice could be heard, she was ready to explain the mystery. It was no miracle that she had wrought. She had discovered, on the night before the burial of the queen, that she was only in a trance,—not dead—and by much nursing had brought back her life. Hermione had refused, however, to let
