“To my beloved Casimir—­my brother, my friend, my guide and teacher, to whom I owe the supreme happiness of my life in this world and the next—­let this poor figure of his grateful Zara be a memento of happy days that are gone, only to be renewed with redoubled happiness hereafter.”

I handed back the paper silently, with tears in my eyes, and we turned our attention to the colossal figure we had come to destroy.  It stood at the extreme end of the studio, and was entirely hidden by white linen drapery.  Heliobas advanced, and by a sudden dexterous movement succeeded in drawing off the coverings with a single effort, and then we both fell back and gazed at the clay form disclosed in amazement.  What did it represent?  A man? a god? an angel? or all three united in one vast figure?

It was an unfinished work.  The features of the face were undeclared, save the brow and eyes; and these were large, grand, and full of absolute wisdom and tranquil consciousness of power.  I could have gazed on this wonderful piece of Zara’s handiwork for hours, but Heliobas called to the Armenian servants, who stood near the door awaiting orders, and commanded them to break it down.  For once these well-trained domestics showed signs of surprise, and hesitated.  Their master frowned.  Snatching a hammer from one of them, he himself attacked the great statue as if it were a personal foe.  The Armenians, seeing he was in earnest, returned to their usual habits of passive obedience, and aided him in his labour.  Within a few minutes the great and beautiful figure lay in fragments on the floor, and these fragments were soon crushed into indistinguishable atoms.  I had promised to witness this work of destruction, and witness it I did, but it was with pain and regret.  When all was finished, Heliobas commanded his men to carry the statue of Zara’s self down to his own private room, and then to summon all the domestics of the household in a body to the great hall, as he wished to address them.  I heard him give this order with some surprise, and he saw it.  As the Armenians slowly disappeared, carrying with great care the marble figure of their late mistress, he turned to me, as he locked up the door of the studio, and said quietly: 

“These ignorant folk, who serve me for money and food—­money that they have eagerly taken, and food that they have greedily devoured—­ they think that I am the devil or one of the devil’s agents, and I am going to prove their theories entirely to their satisfaction.  Come and see!”

I followed him, somewhat mystified.  On the way downstairs he said: 

“Do you know why Zara wished that statue destroyed?”

“No,” I said frankly; “unless for the reason that it was incomplete.”

“It always would have been incomplete,” returned Heliobas; “even had she lived to work at it for years.  It was a daring attempt, and a fruitless one.  She was trying to make a clay figure of one who never wore earthly form—­the Being who is her Twin-Soul, who dominates her entirely, and who is with her now.  As well might she have tried to represent in white marble the prismatic hues of the rainbow!”