The General and the Prince were awaiting them. With many compliments they thanked the host and hostess for their hospitality, and regretted the necessity that took them away in such unfortunate haste; it was a flying trip and their absence must not be lengthened by an hour, as these were troublous times in their part of India. As they moved toward the wagon Mrs. Judd held her husband back, believing there might be a parting at which strangers would not be welcome. But the parting, like all else, was dignified and ceremonious. She could not see the boy’s face, for he stood with his back toward her, but as far as she could judge he also was calm and self-possessed. She noticed, however, that the General had to swallow, with a sudden gulp, a large portion of what appeared to be a carefully constructed sentence. They drove in silence down the long avenue beneath the maples, and the driver, perhaps to put them at their ease, said something about getting along faster in this light wagon than with the stage, but both his passengers seemed in a silent mood and made no answer. As they turned into the main road the General, who was on the side nearest the house, looked back. At the farther end of the avenue stood the boy in the same position, still watching them. The old soldier brought his hand to his hat and down again in a military salute that was evidently familiar to the little person at the farther end of the driveway, for it was promptly acknowledged, and although a farewell to the last ties between himself and his country, was returned with head erect, as from one veteran to another. II Twenty years have passed. The corner mansion of the Van Koovers is ablaze with light. Long rows of carriages surmounted by sleepy coachmen extend along Madison Avenue and into the neighboring street. The temporary awning from the front door to the curbstone serves only to shield the coming and departing guest from the gaze of heaven, for the moon and stars are shining brightly, as if they also would like to enter. But when the front door opens, which is frequent, it emits a blast of music, taunting and defiant, reminding the outside universe of its plebeian origin. Inside there is a scene of festivity and splendor, of dazzling gayety, of youth and mirth and decorous joy. The opulence of the Van Koovers is of sanctifying solidity, and when they give a ball they do it in a style to be remembered. The house itself, with its sumptuous furniture, its magnificent ceilings and stately dimensions is sufficiently impressive in every-day attire, but to-night it reminds you of the Arabian Tales. The family portraits, the gracious dignity of the host and hostess, the bearing of the servants, all speak of pedigree and hereditary honors.