"Why, Zara dearest!" I replied. "Of course I shall not think you unsociable. I would not interfere with any of your pursuits for the world." She looked at me with a sort of wistful affection, and continued: "But you must know I like to work quite alone, and though it may look churlish, still not even you must come into the studio. I never can do anything before a witness; Casimir himself knows that, and keeps away from me." "Well!" I said, "I should be an ungrateful wretch if I could not oblige you in so small a request. I promise not to disturb you, Zara; and do not think for one moment that I shall be dull. I have books, a piano, flowers--what more do I want? And if I like I can go out; then I have letters to write, and all sorts of things to occupy me. I shall be quite happy, and I shall not come near you till you call me." Zara kissed me. "You are a dear girl," she said; "I hate to appear inhospitable, but I know you are a real friend--that you will love me as much away from you as near you, and that you have none of that vulgar curiosity which some women give way to, when what they desire to see is hidden from them. You are not inquisitive, are you?" I laughed. "The affairs of other people have never appeared so interesting to me that I have cared to bother myself about them," I replied. "Blue-Beard's Chamber would never have been unlocked had I been that worthy man's wife." "What a fine moral lesson the old fairy-tale teaches!" said Zara. "I always think those wives of Blue-Beard deserved their fate for not being able to obey him in his one request. But in regard to your pursuits, dear, while I am at work in my studio, you can use the grand piano in the drawing-room when you please, as well as the little one in your own room; and you can improvise on the chapel organ as much as you like." I was delighted at this idea, and thanked her heartily. She smiled thoughtfully.