very, very much that it is
thanks to Peter we are here. He would like always to be the important
one, and he feels it should be his right to be of importance, because
(now this is one of the strange things!) the fairy palace was built by a
cousin of his--the cousin from whom came all his money. That is really
odd, but it is not yet the mysterious part. Now I have just come to it.

From Peter I have heard nothing except what I told you: that the house
belongs to a friend of Marcel Moncourt's, who is always away since he
owned it and will not let but will lend his place sometimes. From Mr.
Caspian I have this story which I write for you.

His cousin, an old man named Stanislaws--only a cousin through a
marriage--built the house for his son. It was to be a surprise birthday
present, and it must be so beautiful, with many features and furnishings
of other countries, that this young man would consent to settle in it.
He liked to wander over the world, and his poor father thought if he
could give him in one house all the things he loved the best in far-off
lands he might be satisfied. That was pathetic, don't you find? To have
the house ready in time the old Stanislaws offered a great sum to an
architect who must put that work in front of all other engagements. He
did so, but trying to keep his contracts with every one gave him in the
end an illness many people in this country have, called nervous
prostration. I suppose it is an American disease, as one does not have
it elsewhere. That was the first bad luck of the house, but not the
last. When it was finished, before even it was named, the old Stanislaws
died in a sad way--a way Mr. Caspian said I would not like to hear of;
and the son died, too. Mr. Caspian thought the house would come to him
with everything else; but no, it had been given by the young Stanislaws
to some friend. This friend kept away, and would not even let his name
be known; so Mr. Caspian fought to get the place for himself, claiming
through the law there must be something wrong. He had hope, for he
wished to live there, not liking the west, where the old Stanislaws home
was. But the case came out against him in the end. A lawyer in New York
proved that the house had been legally given, and nothing could be done.
Since then it is Marcel Moncourt who pays the servants and acts for the
owner, but Mr. Caspian is sure the place is not his.

Well, here we are in it, anyhow, and shall be till to-morrow, for we