the occasion, as beautiful a night of a
Southern summer as a man could hap upon. Still and starry, the sea
without a ripple; the ships like black shapes against an azure sky; the
lights of the houses shining upon the moonlit gardens; the music of the
bands; the gay talk of the merry people--oh, who would go northward ho!
if Providence set him down on such a spot as this? And upon it all was
the picture of Madame herself--of that lady of the gazelle's eyes and
the milk-white skin, as she invited me into her sitting-room and asked
me to sit down while she talked.

You could not have matched her for beauty in Nice; I doubt if you could
have done it nearer than Paris and the Ritz. Dressed in a lot of
fluffy stuff, with a pink satin skirt, and arms bare to the shoulders
and a chain of diamonds about her neck--dressed like this, and so sweet
and gracious in her manner, talking to me just as though she had known
me from infancy, and asking me, Lal Britten, to help her--why, you bet
I said "Yes," and said it so plainly that even she could not mistake me.

"Why, Britten," says she, "do you know what has happened to-day?"

"Couldn't guess it if I tried, madame," said I.

"Well, then, I must tell you: they won't let me go to Monte Carlo,
Britten. They say the Emperor forbids it."

"But, madame, is there any need to ask the old gentleman's permission?
Aren't you an American citizen?"

She laughed at my idea of it, and asked me if I would like a glass of
port wine, which I did to oblige her; while she took another as though
she liked it, which I have no reason to suppose she did not.

"You see, Britten," she said, presently, "a woman is of her husband's
nationality, and so, of course, I am a Hungarian. That is why the
Emperor has the power to say that I must not be admitted to Monte Carlo
just at the moment when my dear husband is waiting for me there. Now,
don't you think it is very hard upon us both?"

"It's very hard on him, madame, seeing you are in the case. I should
want to know him before I said the same thing for you, asking your
pardon for the liberty."

She took no notice of this, but casting up her eyes to heaven--and at
that game Miss Sarah Bernhardt out of Paris couldn't beat her--she
exclaimed:

"Oh, my poor Joseph, whatever will he think of me? I dare not
contemplate it, Britten--I really dare not."

"Then I should leave it alone, madame. Is there no way of getting this
decision altered?"

"No