oast, and you'll
have to break away long enough to join in."

"Queen! That's what she is!" shouted Cooley.

Mellin lifted his glass with the others and drank to Madame de
Vaurigard, but the woman at his side did not change her attitude and
continued to sit with her elbows on the table, her cheek on the back of
her hand, watching him thoughtfully.

VI. Rake's Progress

Many toasts were uproariously honored, the health of each member of the
party in turn, then the country of each: France and England first,
out of courtesy to the ladies, Italy next, since this beautiful and
extraordinary meeting of distinguished people (as Mellin remarked in a
short speech he felt called upon to make) took place in that wonderful
land, then the United States. This last toast the gentlemen felt it
necessary to honor by standing in their chairs.

[_Song: The Star-Spangled Banner--without words--by Mr. Cooley and
chorus._]

When the cigars were brought, the ladies graciously remained, adding
tiny spirals of smoke from their cigarettes to the layers of blue haze
which soon overhung the table. Through this haze, in the gentle light
(which seemed to grow softer and softer) Mellin saw the face of Helene
de Vaurigard, luminous as an angel's. She _was_ an angel--and the others
were gods. What could be more appropriate in Rome? Lady Mount-Rhyswicke
was Juno, but more beautiful. For himself, he felt like a god too,
Olympic in serenity.

He longed for mysterious dangers. How debonair he would stroll among
them! He wished to explore the unknown; felt the need of a splendid
adventure, and had a happy premonition that one was coming nearer and
nearer. He favored himself with a hopeful vision of the apartment on
fire, Robert Russ Mellin smiling negligently among the flames and Madame
de Vaurigard kneeling before him in adoration. Immersed in delight, he
puffed his cigar and let his eyes rest dreamily upon the face of Helene.
He was quite undisturbed by an argument, more a commotion than a debate,
between Mr. Pedlow and young Cooley. It ended by their rising, the
latter overturning a chair in his haste.

"I don't know the rudiments, don't I!" cried the boy. "You wait! Ole
Sneydie and I'll trim you down! Corni says he'll play, too. Come on,
Mellin."

"I won't go unless Helene goes," said Mellin. "What are you going to do
when you get there?"

"Alas, my frien'!" exclaimed Madame de Vaurigard, rising, "is it not
what I tol' you? Always y