"I have sent for you all this morning, because I am perfectly aware that you have all determined to give me notice." A stir of astonishment and dismay ensued on the part of the small audience, and I heard one voice near me whisper: "He IS the devil, or how could he have known it?" The lips of Heliobas curled in a fine sarcastic smile. He went on: "I spare you this trouble. Knowing your intentions, I take upon myself to dismiss you at once. Naturally, you cannot risk your characters by remaining in the service of the devil. For my own part, I wonder the devil's money has not burnt your hands, or his food turned to poison in your mouths. My sister, your kind and ever-indulgent mistress, is dead. You know this, and it is your opinion that I summoned up the thunderstorm which caused her death. Be it so. Report it so, if you will, through Paris; your words do not affect me. You have been excellent machines, and for your services many thanks! As soon as my sister's funeral is over, your wages, with an additional present, will be sent to you. You can then leave my house when you please; and, contrary to the usual custom of accepted devils, I am able to say, without perishing in the effort--God speed you all!" The faces of those he addressed exhibited various emotions while he spoke--fear contending with a good deal of shame. The little Greek page stepped forward timidly. "The master knows that I will never leave him," he murmured, and his large eyes were moist with tears. Heliobas laid a gentle hand on the boy's dark curls, but said nothing. One of the four Armenians advanced, and with a graceful rapid gesture of his right hand, touched his head and breast. "My lord will not surely dismiss US who desire to devote ourselves to his service? We are willing to follow my lord to the death if need be, for the sake of the love and honour we bear him." Heliobas looked at him very kindly. "I am richer in friends than I thought myself to be," he said quietly. "Stay then, by all means, Afra, you and your companions, since you have desired it. And you, my boy," he went on, addressing the tearful page, "think you that I would turn adrift an orphan, whom a dying mother trusted to my care? Nay, child, I am as much your servant as you are mine, so long as your love turns towards me." For all answer the page kissed his hand in a sort of rapture, and flinging back his clustering hair from his classic brows, surveyed the domestics, who had taken their dismissal in silent acquiescence, with a pretty scorn.