eir basilica with its mighty dome was a
desert where scorpions and snakes abounded. The fifth Buddha would
appear, not the second Christos. Suddenly I saw before me in a puny
boat a beautiful beardless youth. He was attired in some symbolical
garments and upon his head a triple tiara. I could not believe my
aged eyes. He sat upright. His attitude was hieratic. His eyes
were lifted heavenwards. He clasped his hands and prayed:--

"O Lord, remove thy servant. The time is at hand foretold by thy
slaughtered saints. I am the last Pope and the humblest of thy
servants. Though the heathen hath triumphed upon the earth, I go to
thy bosom, for all things are now accomplished." And he tumbled
forward, dead. The last Pope! I had seen him. Nothing could happen
after that.

And as I turned my boat in the direction of the sea a moaning came
upon the waters. The sky became as brass. A roar, like the rending
asunder of the firmament, caused my soul to expand with horror and
joy. Yes, time _was_ accomplished. The last Pope had uttered the
truth. Eternity was nigh. But the Buddha would now prove to the
multitudes awakened from their long sleep that _He_, not other
gods, was the true, the only God. In a flare of light sounded the
trumpets of destiny; eternity unrolled before me, and on the vast
plain I saw the bones of the buried dead uniting, as men and women
from time's beginnings arose in an army, the number whereof is
unthinkable. And oh! abomination of desolation, the White Horse,
not _Kalki_ the tenth incarnation of Vishnu, but the animal
foretold in _their_ Apocalypse, came through the lightnings, and in
the whirlwinds of flame and thunder I saw the shining face of Him,
the Son of Man! Where our Buddha? Alas! the last Pope spake truth.
I, Moa the Bonze, tell you this ere it be too late to repent your
sins and forswear your false gods. The Galilean is our master....

"_Farceur!_ Do you know what I would do with that accursed fan? I'd
destroy it, sell it, get rid of it somehow. Or else--" Effinghame
scrutinized the doctor, whose eyes were closed--"or else I would return
to the pious practices of my old religion." No smile crossed the face of
his friend as he firmly held the fighting fan, the iron and mystical fan
of the _Samurai_.

XVII

THE WOMAN WHO LOVED CHOPIN

I

When