I answered this letter, and then spent a pleasant evening at the Pension, chatting sociably with Madame Denise and another cheery little Frenchwoman, a day governess, who boarded there, and who had no end of droll experiences to relate, her enviable temperament being to always see the humorous side of life.  I thoroughly enjoyed her sparkling chatter and her expressive gesticulations, and we all three made ourselves merry till bedtime.  Acting on the advice of Heliobas, I retired early to my room, where a warm bath had been prepared in compliance with my orders.  I uncorked the glass tube No. 1, and poured the colourless fluid it contained into the water, which immediately bubbled gently, as though beginning to boil.  After watching it for a minute or two, and observing that this seething movement steadily continued, I undressed quickly and stepped in.  Never shall I forget the exquisite sensation I experienced!  I can only describe it as the poor little Doll’s Dressmaker in “Our Mutual Friend” described her angel visitants, her “blessed children,” who used to come and “take her up and make her light.”  If my body had been composed of no grosser matter than fire and air, I could not have felt more weightless, more buoyant, more thoroughly exhilarated than when, at the end of the prescribed five minutes, I got out of that marvellous bath of healing!  As I prepared for bed, I noticed that the bubbling of the water had entirely ceased; but this was easy of comprehension, for if it had contained electricity, as I supposed, my body had absorbed it by contact, which would account for the movement being stilled.  I now took the second little phial, and prepared it as I had been told.  This time the fluid was motionless.  I noticed it was very faintly tinged with amber.  I drank it off—­it was perfectly tasteless.  Once in bed, I seemed to have no power to think any more—­my eyes closed readily—­the slumber of a year-old child, as Heliobas had said, came upon me with resistless and sudden force, and I remembered no more.

CHAPTER VII.

Zara and Prince Ivan.

The sun poured brilliantly into my room when I awoke the next morning.  I was free from all my customary aches and pains, and a delightful sense of vigour and elasticity pervaded my frame.  I rose at once, and, looking at my watch, found to my amazement that it was twelve o’clock in the day!  Hastily throwing on my dressing-gown, I rang the bell, and the servant appeared.

“Is it actually mid-day?” I asked her.  “Why did you not call me?”

The girl smiled apologetically.

“I did knock at mademoiselle’s door, but she gave me no answer.  Madame Denise came up also, and entered the room; but seeing mademoiselle in so sound a sleep, she said it was a pity to disturb mademoiselle.”

Which statement good Madame Denise, toiling upstairs just then with difficulty, she being stout and short of breath, confirmed with many smiling nods of her head.