"But," I said, "if you are willing to accept the pleasant part of his prophecy, why not admit the possibility of the unpleasant occurring also?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"In these enlightened times, mademoiselle, we only believe what is agreeable to us, and what suits our own wishes, tastes, and opinions. Ca va sans dire. We cannot be forced to accept a Deity against our reason. That is a grand result of modern education."
"Is it?" and I looked at him with pity. "Poor human reason! It will reel into madness sometimes for a mere trifle--an overdose of alcohol will sometimes upset it altogether--what a noble omnipotent thing is human reason! But let me not detain you. Good-bye, and--as the greeting of olden times used to run--God save you!"
He bent his head with a light reverence.
"I believe you to be a good, sweet woman," he said, "therefore I am grateful for your blessing. My mother," and here his eyes grew dreamy and wistful--"poor soul! she died long ago--my mother would never let me retire to rest without signing the cross on my brow. Ah well, that is past! I should like, mademoiselle," and his voice sank very low, "to send some flowers for--her--you understand?"
I did understand, and readily promised to lay whatever blossoms he selected tenderly above the sacred remains of that earthly beauty he had loved, as he himself said, "more than most men love most women."
He thanked me earnestly, and seemed relieved and satisfied. Casting a look of farewell around the familiar hall, he wafted a parting kiss towards the chapel--an action which, though light, was full of tenderness and regret. Then, with a low salute, he left me. The street-door opened and closed after him in its usual noiseless manner. He was gone.
The morning had now fairly dawned, and within the Hotel Mars the work of the great mansion went on in its usual routine; but a sombre melancholy was in the atmosphere--a melancholy that not all my best efforts could dissipate. The domestics looked sullen and heavy-eyed; the only ones in their number who preserved their usual equanimity were the Armenian men-servants and the little Greek page. Preparations for Zara's funeral went on apace; they were exceedingly simple, and the ceremony was to be quite private in character. Heliobas issued his orders, and saw to the carrying out of his most minute instructions in his usual calm manner; but his eyes looked heavy, and his fine countenance was rendered even more majestic by the sacred, resigned sorrow that lay upon it like a deep shadow. His page served him with breakfast in his private room: but he left the light meal untasted. One of the women brought me coffee; but the very thought of eating and drinking seemed repulsive, and I could not touch anything. My mind was busy with the consideration of the duty I had to perform--namely, to see the destruction of Zara's colossal statue, as she had requested. After thinking about it for some time, I went to Heliobas and told him what I had it in charge to do. He listened attentively.