And she it was who told the man what he must do; and although it scared
him a great deal he agreed, for in the end all good husbands obey their
wives.
It felt very eerie to be alone in the National Gallery in the dead of
the night with a tiny electric lamp in one's buttonhole and a sponge of
alcohol and turpentine in one's hand. While he worked the little
Madonna's eyes rested upon him and it could hardly have been mere fancy
that made him believe they were full of gratitude and trust. At the end
of an hour the outline of a child, faint and misty, appeared in her
arms, its head, circled by a tiny white halo, snuggling against the
curve of her little breast.
Then the man stepped back and gave a shout of joy and, remembering the
words the painter had used, he cried out, "I will put an infant in your
arms that shall live down all the ages."
He had thought perhaps there would come an answering gladness from the
Madonna herself and looked into her face to find it. And truly enough
it was there. Her eyes, which for centuries had looked questingly forth
from the canvas, now drooped and rested upon the baby.
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