new. We look at painting
through Raphael; sculpture through Angelo; poetry through Shakespeare;
philosophy through Plato. It is all done for us; we are copyists. The
world is getting old--how glorious to have lived when it was young! But
nowadays the very children are blase."

"And you--are not you blase to talk like that, with your genius and all
the world before you?" I asked laughingly, slipping my arm through
hers. "Come, confess!"

Zara looked at me gravely.

"I sincerely hope the world is NOT all before me," she said; "I should
be very sorry if I thought so. To have the world all before you in the
general acceptation of that term means to live long, to barter whatever
genius you have for gold, to hear the fulsome and unmeaning flatteries
of the ignorant, who are as ready with condemnation as praise--to be
envied and maligned by those less lucky than you are. Heaven defend me
from such a fate!"

She spoke with earnestness and solemnity; then, dropping the curtain
before her statue, turned away. I was admiring the vine-wreathed head
of a young Bacchante that stood on a pedestal near me, and was about to
ask Zara what subject she had chosen for the large veiled figure at the
farthest end of her studio, when we were interrupted by the entrance of
the little Greek page whom I had seen on my first visit to the house.
He saluted us both, and addressing himself to Zara, said:

"Monsieur le Comte desires me to tell you, madame, that Prince Ivan
will be present at dinner."

Zara looked somewhat vexed; but the shade of annoyance flitted away
from her fair face like a passing shadow, as she replied quietly:

"Tell Monsieur le Comte, my brother, that I shall be happy to receive
Prince Ivan."

The page bowed deferentially and departed. Zara turned round, and I saw
the jewel on her breast flashing with a steely glitter like the blade
of a sharp sword.

"I do not like Prince Ivan myself," she said; "but he is a singularly
brave and resolute man, and Casimir has some reason for admitting him
to our companionship. Though I greatly doubt if--" Here a flood of
music broke upon our ears like the sound of a distant orchestra. Zara
looked at me and smiled. "Dinner is ready!" she announced; "but you
must not imagine that we keep a band to play us to our table in
triumph. It is simply a musical instrument worked by electricity that
imitates the orchestra; both Casimir and I prefer it to a gong!"

And slipping her arm affecti