quire or in any way
to concern myself in the political prospects of our Order. Alas! that
the time should come when I should find myself calmly acknowledging that
my country's sorrows were mine no longer. But, comrades, I must claim
from you your generous consideration. Five-and-twenty years is a long
time. I have lost my touch of history. My memory--I must confess it--my
memory itself is weak. I do not doubt that, small though your numbers
be, you are nobly carrying on the work in which I, too, once bore a
part. I do not doubt but that you are laboring still in the glorious
cause of liberty. But I am with you no longer; my work on earth for
others, such as it has been, is accomplished. I do not come to aid or to
join you. Alas! that I should say it, I, Leonardo di Marioni, whose life
was once so closely bound up with your prosperity as the breath of a man
is to his body. But it is so. I am stranded upon the wreck of my past,
and I can only call upon you with a far-distant voice for my own
salvation."

There was a distinct air of relief. The vendor of ice cream spat upon
the floor, and, in response to a frown from the Professor, at once
covered it with his foot. The Professor drew his hand thoughtfully down
his chin. They were approaching the _crux_ of the whole matter.

"We regret it deeply, Count," he said solemnly. "In that case the small
trifle of money which the London agents of your bank have placed to our
credit yearly on your behalf for the cause, and which has regularly been
used for the--er--necessary expenses--er----"

The Count stretched out his hand.

"It is nothing," he answered. "Why should you mention it? That and more,
too, the Order is welcome to. I doubt not that it has been well used."

"It has!" they cried, with one voice.

"A drop more beer, and a bottle of bran----"

The ice vendor never finished his sentence. A furious kick from the
Professor, under the table, reminded him that he was on dangerous
grounds, and he desisted, rubbing his leg and growling.

The Count scarcely heeded the interruption. His whole form was shaking
with eagerness; his bony, white hands were outstretched toward his four
listeners. For five-and-twenty years he had dreamed of this.

"No, my appearance once more before you, comrades, brothers, has no such
petty object!" he cried. "I am here to demand my rights as a member of
the Order of the White Hyacinth. I am here to remind you of our great
principle--vengeance u