The deep melancholy of the music and the quivering pathos of the deep baritone voice were so affecting that it was almost a relief when the song ceased. I had been looking out of the window at the fantastic patterns of the moonlight on the garden walk, but now I turned to see in Zara's face her appreciation of what we had just heard. To my surprise she had left the room. Heliobas reclined in his easy-chair, glancing up and down the columns of the Figaro; and the Prince still sat at the piano, moving his fingers idly up and down the keys without playing. The little page entered with a letter on a silver salver. It was for his master. Heliobas read it quickly, and rose, saying: "I must leave you to entertain yourselves for ten minutes while I answer this letter. Will you excuse me?" and with the ever-courteous salute to us which was part of his manner, he left the room.
I still remained at the window. Prince Ivan still dumbly played the piano. There were a few minutes of absolute silence. Then the Prince hastily got up, shut the piano, and approached me.
"Do you know where Zara is?" he demanded in a low, fierce tone.
I looked at him in surprise and a little alarm--he spoke with so much suppressed anger, and his eyes glittered so strangely.
"No," I answered frankly. "I never saw her leave the room."
"I did," he said. "She slipped out like a ghost, or a witch, or an angel, while I was singing the last verse of Swinburne's song. Do you know Swinburne, mademoiselle?"
"No," I replied, wondering at his manner more and more. "I only know him, as you do, to be a poet."
"Poet, madman, or lover--all three should be one and the same thing," muttered the Prince, clenching and unclenching that strong right hand of his on which sparkled a diamond like a star. "I have often wondered if poets feel what they write--whether Swinburne, for instance, ever felt the weight of a dead cold thing within him HERE," slightly touching the region of his heart, "and realized that he had to drag that corpse of unburied love with him everywhere-- even to the grave, and beyond--O God!--beyond the grave!" I touched him gently on the arm. I was full of pity for him--his despair was so bitter and keen.
"Prince Ivan," I said, "you are excited and overwrought. Zara meant no slight to you in leaving the room before your song was finished. I am quite sure of that. She is kindness itself--her nature is all sweetness and gentleness. She would not willingly offend you--"