"Your presumption was almost greater than your folly, Prince," I said, "that with such ideas as these in your mind you could dream of winning Zara for a wife. Do you think she could have led a life like that of other women? A frivolous round of gaiety, a few fine dresses and jewels, small-talk, society scandal, stale compliments--you think such things would have suited HER? And would she have contented herself with a love like yours? Come! Come and see how well she has escaped you!" And I beckoned him towards the door. He hesitated. "Where would you take me?" he asked. "To the chapel. Zara's body lies there." He shuddered. "No, no--not there! I cannot bear to look upon her perished loveliness--to see that face, once so animated, white and rigid--death in such a form is too horrible!" And he covered his eyes with his hand--I saw tears slowly drop through his fingers. I gazed at him, half in wonder, half in pity. "And yet you are a brave man!" I said. These words roused him. He met my gaze with such a haggard look of woe that my heart ached for him. What comfort had he now? What joy could he ever expect? All his happiness was centred in the fact of BEING ALIVE--alive to the pleasures of living, and to the joys the world could offer to a man who was strong, handsome, rich, and accomplished--how could he look upon death as otherwise than a loathsome thing--a thing not to be thought of in the heyday of youthful blood and jollity--a doleful spectre, in whose bony hands the roses of love must fall and wither! With a sense of deep commiseration in me, I spoke again with great gentleness.