Prince Ivan Petroffsky had left Paris, but his carriage, drawn by two prancing Russian steeds, followed the hearse at a respectful distance, as also the carriage of Dr. Morini, and some other private persons known to Heliobas.  A few people attended it on foot, and these were chiefly from among the very poor, some of whom had benefited by Zara’s charity or her brother’s medical skill, and had heard of the calamity through rumour, or through the columns of the Figaro, where it was reported with graphic brevity.  The weather was still misty, and the fiery sun seemed to shine through tears as Father Paul, with his assistants, read in solemn yet cheerful tones the service for the dead according to the Catholic ritual.  One of the chief mourners at the grave was the faithful Leo; who, without obtruding himself in anyone’s way, sat at a little distance, and seemed, by the confiding look with which he turned his eyes upon his master, to thoroughly understand that he must henceforth devote his life entirely to him alone.  The coffin was lowered, the “Requiem aeternam” spoken—­all was over.  Those assembled shook hands quietly with Heliobas, saluted each other, and gradually dispersed.  I entered a carriage and drove back to the Hotel Mars, leaving Heliobas in the cemetery to give his final instructions for the ornamentation and decoration of his sister’s grave.

The little page served me with some luncheon in my own apartment, and by the time all was ready for my departure, Heliobas returned.  I went down to him in his study, and found him sitting pensively in his arm-chair, absorbed in thought.  He looked sad and solitary, and my whole heart went out to him in gratitude and sympathy.  I knelt beside him as a daughter might have done, and softly kissed his hand.

He started as though awakened suddenly from sleep, and seeing me, his eyes softened, and he smiled gravely.

“Are you come to say ‘Good-bye,’ my child?” he asked, in a kind tone.  “Well, your mission here is ended!”

“Had I any mission at all,” I replied, with a grateful look, “save the very selfish one which was comprised in the natural desire to be restored to health?”

Heliobas surveyed me for a few moments in silence.

“Were I to tell you,” he said at last, “by what mystical authority and influence you were compelled to come here, by what a marvellously linked chain of circumstances you became known to me long before I saw you; how I was made aware that you were the only woman living to whose companionship I could trust my sister at a time when the society of one of her own sex became absolutely necessary to her; how you were marked out to me as a small point of light by which possibly I might steer my course clear of the darkness which threatened me—­I say, were I to tell you all this, you would no longer doubt the urgent need of your presence here.  It is, however, enough to tell you that you have fulfilled all that was expected of you, even beyond my best