an innate etiquette which commoners cannot
learn. We are not to the manner born. These Princesses are but
candles; and now that we have singed our mothy wings, and are crippled
so that we may not fly again, let us beware. This may or may not be my
last night on earth. . . . Let us go to the opera. Let us be original
in all things. I shall pay a prima donna to sing my requiem from the
footlights--before I am dead."

"Jack!" cried Pembroke, anxiously.

"Oh, do not worry," said I. "I am only trying to laugh--but I can't!"

"Are you truly serious about going to the opera?" he asked.

"Yes. Hurry and dress," said I.

I leaned against the mantel and stared into the flickering tongues of
flame. A caprice? I read the letter again, then threw it into the
grate and watched the little darts of light devour it. Now and then a
word stood out boldly. Finally the wind carried the brown ashes up the
chimney, I would keep the other letter--the one she had asked for--and
the withered rose till the earth passed over me. She was a Princess; I
was truly an adventurer, a feeble pawn on the chess-board. What had I
to do with Kings and bishops and knights? The comedy was about to
end--perhaps with a tragedy. I had spoken my few lines and was going
behind the scenes out of which I had come. As I waited for Pembroke
the past two years went by as in a panorama. I thought of the old
lawyer and the thousand-dollar check; the night at the opera with
Phyllis; the meeting of Hillars and his story. "When there is nothing
more to live for, it is time to die." If there was such a place as
Elysium in the nether world, Hillars and I should talk it all over
there. It is pleasant to contemplate the fact that when we are dead we
shall know "the reason why."

"Come along," said Pembroke, entering.

So we went to the opera. They are full of wonderful scenes, these
continental opera houses. Here and there one sees the brilliant
uniforms, blue and scarlet and brown, glittering with insignias and
softened by furs. Old men with sashes crossing the white bosoms of
their linen dominate the boxes, and the beauty of woman is often lost
in the sparkle of jewels. And hovering over all is an oppressive
fragrance. Pembroke's glasses were roving about. Presently he touched
my arm.

"In the upper proscenium," he said.

It was Phyllis. The Chancellor and the Grand Duke of S---- were with
her.

"We shall visit her during the first inte