It was delicious in flavour--like very fine Chianti.
"Have you no soothing draught for me ?" said Prince Ivan, who had been turning over a volume of photographs in a sullenly abstracted sort of way.
"No," replied Heliobas, with a keen glance at him; "the draught fitted for your present condition might soothe you too thoroughly." The Prince looked at Zara, but she was mute.

She had taken a piece of silk embroidery from a workbasket near her, and was busily employed with it.

Heliobas advanced and laid his hand on the young man's arm.
"Sing to us, Ivan," he said, in a kind tone.

"Sing us one of your wild Russian airs--Zara loves them, and this young lady would like to hear your voice before she goes." The Prince hesitated, and then, with another glance at Zara's bent head, went to the piano.

He had a brilliant touch, and accompanied himself with great taste and delicacy; but his voice was truly magnificent--a baritone of deep and mellow quality, sonorous, and at the same time tender.