She was the very embodiment of vigorous physical health and beauty; it seemed like a dream to remember her in the past night, guarded by that invincible barrier, the work of no mortal hand.

I uttered nothing, however, of these thoughts, and responding to her evident gaiety of heart, I smiled also.
"I will be down punctually at the expiration of the twenty minutes," I said.

"I assure you, Zara, I am quite sensible of the claims of earthly existence upon me.

For instance, I am very hungry, and I shall enjoy breakfast immensely if you will make the coffee." Zara, who among her other accomplishments had the secret of making coffee to perfection, promised laughingly to make it extra well, and flitted from the room, singing softly as she went a fragment of the Neapolitan Stornello: "Fior di mortelle Queste manine tue son tanto belle! Fior di limone Ti voglio far morire di passione Salta! lari--lira." The letter Zara had brought me was from Mrs.Everard, announcing that she would arrive in Paris that very day, Sunday.
"By the time you get this note," so ran her words, "we shall have landed at the Grand Hotel.

Come and see us at once, if you can.