they do
not care to remember it, though memory is part of immortality."

"Ah!" I sighed restlessly; "your thoughts go beyond me, Zara. I cannot
follow your theories."

Zara smiled.

"We will not talk about them any more," she said; "you must tell
Casimir--he will teach you far better than I can."

"What shall I tell him?" I asked; "and what will he teach me?"

"You will tell him what a high opinion you have of the world and its
judgments," said Zara, "and he will teach you that the world is no more
than a grain of dust, measured by the standard of your own soul. This
is no mere platitude--no repetition of the poetical statement 'THE
MIND'S THE STANDARD OF THE MAN;' it is a fact, and can be proved as
completely as that two and two make four. Ask Casimir to set you free."

"To set me free?" I asked, surprised.

"Yes!" and Zara looked at me brightly. "He will know if you are strong
enough to travel!" And, nodding her head gaily to me, she left the room
to prepare for the dinner-hour which was fast approaching.

I pondered over her words a good deal without arriving at any
satisfactory conclusion as to the meaning of them. I did not resume the
conversation with her, nor did I speak to Heliobas as yet, and the days
went on smoothly and pleasantly till I had been nearly a week in
residence at the Hotel Mars. I now felt perfectly well and strong,
though Heliobas continued to give me his remedies regularly night and
morning. I began an energetic routine of musical practice: the
beautiful piano in the drawing-room answered readily to my touch, and
many a delightful hour slipped by as I tried various new difficulties
on the key-board, or worked out different combinations of harmony. I
spent a great deal of my time at the organ in the little chapel, the
bellows of which were worked by electricity, in a manner that gave not
the least trouble, and was perfectly simple of management.

The organ itself was peculiarly sweet in tone, the "vox humana" stop
especially producing an entrancingly rich and tender sound. The
silence, warmth, and beauty of the chapel, with the winter sunlight
streaming through its stained windows, and the unbroken solitude I
enjoyed there, all gave fresh impetus to the fancies of my brain, and a
succession of solemn and tender melodies wove themselves under my
fingers as a broidered carpet is woven on the loom.

One particular afternoon, I was sitting at the instrument as usual, and
my thoughts bega