Zara pressed my hand gently as she passed me, and entered her studio, the door of which closed behind her, and I heard the key turn in the lock.  I became absorbed in the proceedings of Heliobas.  Stooping towards the recumbent form of Prince Ivan, he took the heavy lifeless hands firmly in his own, and then fixed his eyes fully and steadily on the pale, set features with an expression of the most forcible calm and absolutely undeniable authority.  Not one word did he utter, but remained motionless as a statue in the attitude thus assumed—­he seemed scarcely to breathe—­not a muscle of his countenance moved.  Perhaps twenty or thirty seconds might have elapsed, when a warm tinge of colour came back to the apparently dead face—­the brows twitched—­the lips quivered and parted in a heavy sigh.  The braised appearance of the eyelids gave place to the natural tint—­they opened, disclosing the eyes, which stared directly into those of the compelling Master who thus forced their obedience.  A strong shudder shook the young man’s frame; his before nerveless hands grasped those of Heliobas with force and fervour, and still meeting that steady look which seemed to pierce the very centre of his system, Prince Ivan, like Lazarus of old, arose and stood erect.  As he did so, Heliobas withdrew his eyes, dropped his hands and smiled.

“You are better, Ivan?” he inquired kindly.

The Prince looked about him, bewildered.  He passed one hand across his forehead without replying.  Then he turned slightly and perceived me in the window-embrasure, whither I had retreated in fear and wonderment at the marvellous power of Heliobas, thus openly and plainly displayed.

“Tell me,” he said, addressing me, “have I been dreaming?”

I could not answer him.  I was glad to see him recover, yet I was a little afraid.  Heliobas pushed a chair gently towards him.

“Sit down, Ivan,” he said quietly.

The Prince obeyed, and covered his face with his hand as though in deep and earnest meditation.  I looked on in silence and wonderment.  Heliobas spoke not another word, and together we watched the pensive figure in the chair, so absorbed in serious thought.  Some minutes passed.  The gentle tick of the clock in the outer hall grew almost obtrusive, so loud did it seem in the utter stillness that surrounded us.  I longed to speak—­to ask questions—­to proffer sympathy—­but dared not move or utter a syllable.  Suddenly the Prince rose; his manner was calm and dignified, yet touched with a strange humility.  He advanced to Heliobas, holding out his hand.

“Forgive me, Casimir!” he said simply.

Heliobas at once grasped the proffered palm within his own, and looked at the young man with an almost fatherly tenderness.

“Say no more, Ivan,” he returned, his rich voice sounding more than usually mellow in its warmth and heartiness.  “We must all learn before we can know, and some of our lessons are sharp and difficult.  Whatever you have thought of me, remember I have not, and do not, blame you.  To be offended with unbelievers is to show that you are not yourself quite sure of the faith to which you would compel them.”