I began to calculate.  During that strange interview in the chapel, Heliobas had said that in eight days more I should be strong enough to undergo the transmigration he had promised to effect upon me.  Those eight days were now completed on this very morning.  I was glad of this; for I did not care to see Mrs. Everard or anyone till the experiment was over.  The other letter I received was from Mrs. Challoner, who asked me to give an “Improvisation” at the Grand Hotel that day fortnight.

When I went down to breakfast, I mentioned both these letters, and said, addressing myself to Heliobas: 

“Is it not rather a sudden freak of Raffaello Cellini’s to leave Cannes?  We all thought he was settled for the winter there.  Did you know he was going to Rome?”

“Yes,” replied Heliobas, as he stirred his coffee abstractedly.  “I knew he was going there some day this month; his presence is required there on business.”

“And are you going to give the Improvisation this Mrs. Challoner asks you for?” inquired Zara.

I glanced at Heliobas.  He answered for me.

“I should certainly give it if I were you,” he said quietly:  “there will be nothing to prevent your doing so at the date named.”

I was relieved.  I had not been altogether able to divest myself of the idea that I might possibly never come out alive from the electric trance to which I had certainly consented; and this assurance on the part of Heliobas was undoubtedly comforting.  We were all very silent that morning; we all wore grave and preoccupied expressions.  Zara was very pale, and appeared lost in thought.  Heliobas, too, looked slightly careworn, as though he had been up all night, engaged in some brain-exhausting labour.  No mention was made of Prince Ivan; we avoided his name by a sort of secret mutual understanding.  When the breakfast was over, I looked with a fearless smile at the calm face of Heliobas, which appeared nobler and more dignified than ever with that slight touch of sadness upon it, and said softly: 

“The eight days are accomplished!”

He met my gaze fully, with a steady and serious observation of my features, and replied: 

“My child, I am aware of it.  I expect you in my private room at noon.  In the meantime speak to no one—­not even to Zara; read no books; touch no note of music.  The chapel has been prepared for you; go there and pray.  When you see a small point of light touch the extreme edge of the cross upon the altar, it will be twelve o’clock, and you will then come to me.”

With these words, uttered in a grave and earnest tone, he left me.  A sensation of sudden awe stole upon me.  I looked at Zara.  She laid her finger on her lips and smiled, enjoining silence; then drawing my hand close within her own, she led me to the door of the chapel.  There she took a soft veil of some white transparent fabric, and flung it over me, embracing and kissing me tenderly as she did so, but