n extent that he was able to use it as a
healing power. There seemed to me to be really nothing extraordinary in
it. The only part of Cellini's narration I did not credit was the
soul-transmigration he professed to have experienced; and I put that
down to the over-excitement of his imagination at the time of his first
interview with Heliobas. But I kept this thought to myself. In any
case, I resolved to go to Paris. The great desire of my life was to be
in perfect health, and I determined to omit no means of obtaining this
inestimable blessing. Cellini watched me as I remained standing before
him in silent abstraction.

"Will you go?" he inquired at last.

"Yes; I will go," I replied. "But will you give me a letter to your
friend?"

"Leo has taken it and all necessary explanations already," said
Cellini, smiling; "I knew you would go. Heliobas expects you the day
after to-morrow. His residence is Hotel Mars, Champs Elysees. You are
not angry with me, mademoiselle? I could not help knowing that you
would go."

I smiled faintly.

"Electricity again, I suppose! No, I am not angry. Why should I be? I
thank you very much, signor, and I shall thank you more if Heliobas
indeed effects my cure."

"Oh, that is certain, positively certain," answered Cellini; "you can
indulge that hope as much as you like, mademoiselle, for it is one that
cannot be disappointed. Before you leave me, you will look at your own
picture, will you not?" and, advancing to his easel, he uncovered it.

I was greatly surprised. I thought he had but traced the outline of my
features, whereas the head was almost completed. I looked at it as I
would look at the portrait of a stranger. It was a wistful, sad-eyed,
plaintive face, and on the pale gold of the hair rested a coronal of
lilies.

"It will soon be finished," said Cellini, covering the easel again; "I
shall not need another sitting, which is fortunate, as it is so
necessary for you to go away. And now will you look at the 'Life and
Death' once more?"

I raised my eyes to the grand picture, unveiled that day in all its
beauty.

"The face of the Life-Angel there," went on Cellini quietly, "is a poor
and feeble resemblance of the One I love. You knew I was betrothed,
mademoiselle?"

I felt confused, and was endeavouring to find an answer to this when he
continued:

"Do not trouble to explain, for _I_ know how YOU knew. But no more of
this. Will you leave Cannes to-morrow?"

"Yes. In th