their former state.

He that has seen better times has usually a poor tale to tell, some
mean and trivial thing has been his undoing, but they that dined in
that basement had mostly fallen like oaks on nights of abnormal
tempest, had fallen mightily and shaken a nation. Those who had not
been kings themselves, but claimed through an exiled ancestor, had
stories to tell of even grander disaster, history seeming to have
mellowed their dynasty's fate as moss grows over an oak a great while
fallen. There were no jealousies there as so often there are among
kings, rivalry must have ceased with the loss of their navies and
armies, and they showed no bitterness against those that had turned
them out, one speaking of the error of his Prime Minister by which he
had lost his throne as "poor old Friedrich's Heaven-sent gift of
tactlessness."

They gossiped pleasantly of many things, the tittle-tattle we all had
to know when we were learning history, and many a wonderful story I
might have heard, many a side light on mysterious wars had I not made
use of one unfortunate word. That word was "upstairs."

The ex-King of Eritivaria having pointed out to me those unparalleled
heirlooms to which I have alluded, and many more besides, hospitably
asked me if there was anything else that I would care to see, he meant
the pieces of plate that they had in the cupboards, the curiously
graven swords of other princes, historic jewels, legendary seals, but
I who had had a glimpse of their marvelous staircase, whose balustrade
I believed to be solid gold and wondering why in such a stately house
they chose to dine in the basement, mentioned the word "upstairs." A
profound hush came down on the whole assembly, the hush that might
greet levity in a cathedral.

"Upstairs!" he gasped. "We cannot go upstairs."

I perceived that what I had said was an ill-chosen thing. I tried to
excuse myself but knew not how.

"Of course," I muttered, "members may not take guests upstairs."

"Members!" he said to me. "We are not the members!"

There was such reproof in his voice that I said no more, I looked at
him questioningly, perhaps my lips moved, I may have said "What are
you?" A great surprise had come on me at their attitude.

"We are the waiters," he said.

That I could not have known, here at last was honest ignorance that I
had no need to be ashamed of, the very opulence of their table denied
it.

"Then who are the members?" I asked.

Such