He spoke as any physician might do who inquired after a patient’s health.  I was surprised and relieved.  I had prepared myself for something darkly mystical, almost cabalistic; but there was nothing unusual in the demeanour of this pleasant and good-looking gentleman who, bidding me be seated, took a chair himself opposite to me, and observed me with that sympathetic and kindly interest which any well-bred doctor would esteem it his duty to exhibit.  I became quite at ease, and answered all his questions fully and frankly.  He felt my pulse in the customary way, and studied my face attentively.  I described all my symptoms, and he listened with the utmost patience.  When I had concluded, he leaned back in his chair and appeared to ponder deeply for some moments.  Then he spoke.

“You know, of course, that I am not a doctor?”

“I know,” I said; “Signer Cellini explained to me.”

“Ah!” and Heliobas smiled.  “Raffaello explained as much as he might; but not everything.  I must tell you I have a simple pharmacopoeia of my own—­it contains twelve remedies, and only twelve.  In fact there me no more that are of any use to the human mechanism.  All are made of the juice of plants, and six of them are electric.  Raffaello tried you with one of them, did he not?”

As he put this question, I was aware of a keenly inquiring look sent from the eyes of my interrogator into mine.

“Yes,” I answered frankly, “and it made me dream, and I dreamt of you.”

Heliobas laughed lightly.

“So!—­that is well.  Now I am going in the first place to give you what I am sure will be satisfactory information.  If you agree to trust yourself to my care, you will be in perfect health in a little less than a fortnight—­but you must follow my rules exactly.”

I started up from my seat.

“Of course!” I exclaimed eagerly, forgetting all my previous fear of him; “I will do all you advise, even if you wish to magnetize me as you magnetized Signor Cellini!”

“I never magnetized Raffaello,” he said gravely; “he was on the verge of madness, and he had no faith whereby to save himself.  I simply set him free for a time, knowing that his was a genius which would find out things for itself or perish in the effort.  I let him go on a voyage of discovery, and he came back perfectly satisfied.  That is all.  You do not need his experience.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“You are a woman—­your desire is to be well and strong, health being beauty—­to love and to be beloved—­to wear pretty toilettes and to be admired; and you have a creed which satisfies you, and which you believe in without proofs.”

There was the slightest possible tinge of mockery in his voice as he said these words.  A tumultuous rush of feelings overcame me.  My high dreams of ambition, my innate scorn of the trite and commonplace, my deep love of art, my desires of fame—­all these things bore down upon my heart and overcame it, and a pride too deep for tears arose in me and found utterance.