emaining for some time longer in London?"

"Alas! for several weeks yet."

"Then I will introduce you to a gentleman who can secure you admission
to an establishment in London--where you may even hope sometimes to find
the orange grove--to meet your dream-bride!"

"What!" cried M. Gaston, rising to his feet, his eyes bright with
gratitude, "you will do that?"

"With pleasure," said Sir Brian Malpas, wearily; "nor am I jealous!
But--no! do not thank me, for I do not share your views upon the
subject, monsieur. You are a devout worshiper; I, an unhappy slave!"

XXVIII

THE OPIUM AGENT

Into the Palm Court of the Hotel Astoria, Mr. Gianapolis came, radiant
and bowing. M. Gaston rose to greet his visitor. M. Gaston was arrayed
in a light gray suit and wore a violet tie of very chaste design; his
complexion had assumed a quality of sallowness, and the pupils of his
eyes had acquired (as on the occasion of his visit to the chambers of
Sir Brian Malpas) a chatoyant quality; they alternately dilated and
contracted in a most remarkable manner--in a manner which attracted the
immediate attention of Mr. Gianapolis.

"My dear sir," he said, speaking in French, "you suffer. I perceive
how grievously you suffer; and you have been denied that panacea
which beneficent nature designed for the service of mankind. A certain
gentleman known to both of us (we brethren of the poppy are all
nameless) has advised me of your requirements--and here I am."

"You are welcome," declared M. Gaston.

He rose and grasped eagerly the hand of the Greek, at the same
time looking about the Palm Court suspiciously. "You can relieve my
sufferings?"

Mr. Gianapolis seated himself beside the Frenchman.

"I perceive," he said, "that you are of those who abjure the heresies of
De Quincey. How little he knew, that De Quincey, of the true ritual of
the poppy! He regarded it as the German regards his lager, whereas
we know--you and I--that it is an Eleusinian mystery; that true
communicants must retreat to the temple of the goddess if they would
partake of Paradise with her."

"It is perhaps a question of temperament," said M. Gaston, speaking in a
singularly tremulous voice. "De Quincey apparently possessed the type
of constitution which is cerebrally stimulated by opium. To such a being
the golden gates are closed; and the Easterners, whom he despised for
what he termed their beastly lethargies, have taught me the real secret
of the popp