me, said:

"To-night, on going to bed, have a warm bath, empty the contents of the
tube marked No. 1 into it, and then immerse yourself thoroughly for
about five minutes. After the bath, put the fluid in this other tube
marked 2, into a tumbler of fresh spring water, and drink it off. Then
go straight to bed."

"Shall I have any dreams?" I inquired with a little anxiety.

"Certainly not," replied Heliobas, smiling. "I wish you to sleep as
soundly as a year-old child. Dreams are not for you to-night. Can you
come to me tomorrow afternoon at five o'clock? If you can arrange to
stay to dinner, my sister will be pleased to meet you; but perhaps you
are otherwise engaged?"

I told him I was not, and explained where I had taken rooms, adding
that I had come to Paris expressly to put myself under his treatment.

"You shall have no cause to regret this journey," he said earnestly. "I
can cure you thoroughly, and I will. I forget your nationality--you are
not English?"

"No, not entirely. I am half Italian."

"Ah, yes! I remember now. But you have been educated in England?"

"Partly."

"I am glad it is only partly," remarked Heliobas. "If it had been
entirely, your improvisations would have had no chance. In fact you
never would have improvised. You would have played the piano like poor
mechanical Arabella Goddard. As it is, there is some hope of
originality in you--you need not be one of the rank and file unless you
choose."

"I do not choose," I said.

"Well, but you must take the consequences, and they are bitter. A woman
who does not go with her time is voted eccentric; a woman who prefers
music to tea and scandal is an undesirable acquaintance; and a woman
who prefers Byron to Austin Dobson is--in fact, no measure can gauge
her general impossibility!" I laughed gaily. "I will take all the
consequences as willingly as I will take your medicines," I said,
stretching out my hand for the little vases which he gave me wrapped in
paper. "And I thank you very much, monsieur. And"--here I hesitated.
Ought I not to ask him his fee? Surely the medicines ought to be paid
for?

Heliobas appeared to read my thoughts, for he said, as though answering
my unuttered question:

"I do not accept fees, mademoiselle. To relieve your mind from any
responsibility of gratitude to me, I will tell you at once that I never
promise to effect a cure unless I see that the person who comes to be
cured has a certain connection with myse