“Is that all?” I queried, with a gesture of contempt.  “Because her body was beautiful—­because she had sweet kissing lips and a soft skin; because her hand was like a white flower, and her dark hair clustering over her brow reminded one of a misty evening cloud hiding moonlight; because the glance of her glorious eyes made the blood leap through your veins and sting you with passionate desire—­ are these the reasons of your so-called love?  Oh, give it some other and lower name!  For the worms shall feed on the fair flesh that won your admiration—­their wet and slimy bodies shall trail across the round white arms and tender bosom—­unsightly things shall crawl among the tresses of the glossy hair; and nothing, nothing shall remain of what you loved, but dust.  Prince Ivan, you shudder; but I too loved Zara—­I loved her, not the perishable casket in which, like a jewel, she was for a time enshrined.  I love her still—­and for the being I love there is no such thing as death.”

The Prince was silent, and seemed touched.  I had spoken with real feeling, and tears of emotion stood in my eyes.

“I loved her as a man generally loves,” he said, after a little pause.  “Nay—­more than most men love most women!”

“Most men are too often selfish in both their loves and hatreds,” I returned.  “Tell me if there was anything in Zara’s mind and intelligence to attract you?  Did you sympathize in her pursuits; did you admire her tastes; had you any ideas in common with her?”

“No, I confess I had not,” he answered readily.  “I considered her to be entirely a victim to her brother’s scientific experiments.  I thought, by making her my wife, to release her from such tyranny and give her rescue and refuge.  To this end I found out all I could from—­him”—­he approached the name of Heliobas with reluctance—­“and I made up my mind that her delicate imagination had been morbidly excited; but that marriage and a life like that led by other women would bring her to a more healthy state of mind.”

I smiled with a little scorn.

“Your presumption was almost greater than your folly, Prince,” I said, “that with such ideas as these in your mind you could dream of winning Zara for a wife.  Do you think she could have led a life like that of other women?  A frivolous round of gaiety, a few fine dresses and jewels, small-talk, society scandal, stale compliments—­you think such things would have suited her?  And would she have contented herself with a love like yours?  Come!  Come and see how well she has escaped you!”

And I beckoned him towards the door.  He hesitated.

“Where would you take me?” he asked.

“To the chapel.  Zara’s body lies there.”

He shuddered.

“No, no—­not there!  I cannot bear to look upon her perished loveliness—­to see that face, once so animated, white and rigid—­ death in such a form is too horrible!”