them in part, if not in entirety.  But if you once admit a thought of Self to enter your brain, those aerial sounds will be silenced instantly.  By this means, too, you can judge who are the true disciples of music in this world—­those who, like Schubert and Chopin, suffered the heaven-born melodies to descend through them as though they were mere conductors of sound; or those who, feebly imitating other composers, measure out crotchets and quavers by rule and line, and flood the world with inane and perishable, and therefore useless, productions.  And now,—­farewell.”

“Do you remain in Paris?” I asked.

“For a few days only.  I shall go to Egypt, and in travelling accustom myself to the solitude in which I must dwell, now Zara has left me.”

“You have Azul,” I ventured to remark.

“Ah! but how often do I see her?  Only when my soul for an instant is clear from all earthly and gross obstruction; and how seldom I can attain to this result while weighted with my body!  But she is near me—­that I know—­faithful as the star to the mariner’s compass!”

He raised his head as he spoke, and his eyes flashed.  Never had I seen him look more noble or kingly.  The inspired radiance of his face softened down into his usual expression of gentleness and courtesy, and he said, offering me his arm: 

“Let me see you to the carriage.  You know, it is not an actual parting with us—­I intend that we shall meet frequently.  For instance, the next time we exchange pleasant greetings will be in Italy.”

I suppose I looked surprised; I certainly felt so, for nothing was further from my thoughts than a visit to Italy.

Heliobas smiled, and said in a tone that was almost gay: 

“Shall I draw the picture for you?  I see a fair city, deep embowered in hills and sheltered by olive-groves.  Over it beams a broad sky, deeply blue; many soft bells caress the summer air.  Away in the Cascine Woods a gay party of people are seated on the velvety moss; they have mandolins, and they sing for pure gaiety of heart.  One of them, a woman with fair hair, arrayed in white, with a red rose at her bosom, is gathering the wild flowers that bloom around her, and weaving them into posies for her companions.  A stranger, pacing slowly, book in hand, through the shady avenue, sees her—­her eyes meet his.  She springs up to greet him; he takes her hand.  The woman is yourself; the stranger no other than your poor friend, who now, for a brief space, takes leave of you!”

So rapidly had he drawn up this picture, that the impression made on me was as though a sudden vision had been shown to me in a magic glass.  I looked at him earnestly.

“Then our next meeting will be happy?” I said inquiringly.

“Of course.  Why not?  And the next—­and the next after that also!” he answered.

At this reply, so frankly given, I was relieved, and accompanied him readily through the hall towards the street-door.  Leo met us here, and intimated, as plainly as a human being could have done, his wish to bid me good-bye.  I stooped and kissed his broad head and patted him affectionately, and was rewarded for these attentions by seeing his plume-like tail wave slowly to and fro—­a sign of pleasure the poor animal had not betrayed since Zara’s departure from the scene of her earthly imprisonment.