“I will do as you wish, monsieur.  Having placed myself in your hands, I must obey.  In this particular case,” I added, looking at Zara, “obedience is very agreeable to me.”

Heliobas smiled and seemed satisfied.  He then took a small goblet from a side-table and left the room.  Returning, however, almost immediately with the cup filled to the brim, he said, handing it to me: 

“Drink this—­it is your dose for to-night; and then you will go home, and straight to bed.”

I drank it off at once.  It was delicious in flavour—­like very fine Chianti.

“Have you no soothing draught for me?” said Prince Ivan, who had been turning over a volume of photographs in a sullenly abstracted sort of way.

“No,” replied Heliobas, with a keen glance at him; “the draught fitted for your present condition might soothe you too thoroughly.”

The Prince looked at Zara, but she was mute.  She had taken a piece of silk embroidery from a workbasket near her, and was busily employed with it.  Heliobas advanced and laid his hand on the young man’s arm.

“Sing to us, Ivan,” he said, in a kind tone.  “Sing us one of your wild Russian airs—­Zara loves them, and this young lady would like to hear your voice before she goes.”

The Prince hesitated, and then, with another glance at Zara’s bent head, went to the piano.  He had a brilliant touch, and accompanied himself with great taste and delicacy; but his voice was truly magnificent—­a baritone of deep and mellow quality, sonorous, and at the same time tender.  He sang a French rendering of a Slavonic love-song, which, as nearly as I can translate it into English, ran as follows: 

  “As the billows fling shells on the shore,
   As the sun poureth light on the sea,
   As a lark on the wing scatters song to the spring,
   So rushes my love to thee.

  “As the ivy clings close to the tower,
   As the dew lieth deep in a flower,
   As the shadow to light, as the day unto night,
   So clings my wild soul to thee!

  “As the moon glitters coldly alone,
   Above earth on her cloud-woven throne,
   As the rocky-bound cave repulses a wave,
   So thy anger repulseth me.

  “As the bitter black frost of a night
   Slays the roses with pitiless might,
   As a sharp dagger-thrust hurls a king to the dust,
   So thy cruelty murdereth me.

  “Yet in spite of thy queenly disdain,
   Thou art seared by my passion and pain;
   Thou shalt hear me repeat, till I die for it, sweet! 
   ‘I love thee!  I dare to love thee!’”

He ended abruptly and with passion, and rose from the piano directly.

I was enthusiastic in my admiration of the song and of the splendid voice which had given it utterance, and the Prince seemed almost grateful for the praise accorded him both by Heliobas and myself.

The page entered to announce that “the carriage was waiting for mademoiselle,” and I prepared to leave.  Zara kissed me affectionately, and whispering, “Come early to-morrow,” made a graceful salute to Prince Ivan, and left the room immediately.