"Remove the canvas." "It is my work--my own: my idea, my stone, and the labour of my hands," said Francois doggedly.
The Cure turned to Lajeunesse and made a motion towards the statue.
Lajeunesse, with a burning righteous joy, snatched off the canvas.

There was one instant of confusion in the faces of all-of absolute silence.
Then the crowd gasped.

The Cure's hat came off, and every other hat followed.

The Cure made the sign of the cross upon his breast and forehead, and every other man, woman, and child present did the same.
Then all knelt, save Francois and the Cure himself.
What they saw was a statue of Christ, a beautiful benign figure; barefooted, with a girdle about his waist: the very truth and semblance of a man.

The type was strong and yet delicate; vigorous and yet refined; crude and yet noble; a leader of men--the God-man, not the man-God.
After a moment's silence the Cure spoke.