notes and laughing under his cowl. Catherine de Medici
and Robespierre slinking away, poor, guilty things, into the pale
twilight of the Dawn!

"Names! Names! Only names? I am not just so sure about that. In any
event, what a roll call! We are such stuff as dreams are made of, and
our little life is rounded by a sleep; the selfsame sleep which these,
our living dead men and women in steel armor and gauzy muslins, in
silken hose and sock and buskin, epaulettes and top boots, brocades and
buff facings, have endured so long and know so well!

"If I should die in Paris I should expect them--or some of them--to meet
me at the barriers and to say, 'Behold, the wickedness that was done in
the world, the cruelty and the wrong, dwelt in the body, not in the soul
of man, which freed from its foul incasement, purified and made eternal
by the hand of death, shall see both the glory and the hand of God!'"

It was not to be. I shall not die in Paris. I shall never come again.
Neither shall I make apology for this long quotation by myself from
myself, for am I not inditing an autobiography, so called?

Chapter the Sixteenth

Monte Carlo--The European Shrine of Sport and Fashion--Apocryphal
Gambling Stories--Leopold, King of the Belgians--An Able and
Picturesque Man of Business

I

Having disported ourselves in and about Paris, next in order comes a
journey to the South of France--that is to the Riviera--by geography the
main circle of the Mediterranean Sea, by proclamation Cannes, Nice, and
Mentone, by actual fact and count, Monte Carlo--even the swells adopting
a certain hypocrisy as due to virtue.

Whilst Monte Carlo is chiefly, I might say exclusively, identified
in the general mind with gambling, and was indeed at the outset but a
gambling resort, it long ago outgrew the limits of the Casino, becoming
a Mecca of the world of fashion as well as the world of sport. Half the
ruling sovereigns of Europe and all the leaders of European swelldom,
the more prosperous of the demi-mondaines and no end of the merely
rich of every land, congregate there and thereabouts. At the top of the
season the show of opulence and impudence is bewildering.

The little principality of Monaco is hardly bigger than the Cabbage
Patch of the renowned Mrs. Wiggs. It is, however, more happily situate.
Nestled under the heights of La Condamine and Tete de Chien and looking
across a sheltered bay upon the wide and blue Mediterr