I left the chapel with a light step and lighter heart, and went to my own room to pack up my things that all might be in readiness for my departure on the morrow.

On my table I found a volume whose quaint binding I at once recognised--"The Letters of a Dead Musician." A card lay beside it, on which was written in pencil: "Knowing of your wish to possess this book, I herewith offer it for your acceptance.

It teaches you a cheerful devotion to Art, and an indifference to the world's opinions--both of which are necessary to you in your career .-- HELIOBAS." Delighted with this gift, I opened the book, and found my name written on the fly-leaf, with the date of the month and year, and the words: "La musica e il lamento dell' amore o la preghiera a gli Dei." (Music is the lament of love, or a prayer to the Gods.) I placed this treasure carefully in a corner of my portmanteau, together with the parchment scrolls containing "The Electric Principle of Christianity," and the valuables recipes of Heliobas; and as I did so, I caught sight of myself in the long mirror that directly faced me.
I was fascinated, not by my own reflection, but by the glitter of the electric gem I wore.

It flashed and glowed like a star, and was really lovely--far more brilliant than the most brilliant cluster of fine diamonds.

I may here remark that I have been asked many questions concerning this curious ornament whenever I have worn it in public, and the general impression has been that it is some new arrangement of ornamental electricity.