During the time when the viscount was playing his game to win my affections, my good friend’s communications stopped coming. I wrote him several letters. They were never answered. Some years later, in 1900, I had installed my theatre, as is perhaps still remembered, at the Universal Exposition in Paris. One day as I was on my way to the theatre I saw at a distance my lover of the days at Nice. My heart began to beat violently. My friend approached. We were going to pass each other. He had not yet seen me; for he was walking with his eyes on the ground. Standing still, with my left hand restraining the beating of my heart, I waited, feasting my eyes upon him. He turned his head and passed me. I was destined not to see him again for a long time. Meantime, indeed, I learned through a third person that he had told his father of his desire to marry me. A violent scene took place between the two men. The father threatened to disinherit him. The poor boy was sent away, almost by main force, on a voyage round the world. I have frequently reflected since then on the part the “viscount” played in all this affair, and I should not be astonished to learn that he led some artful embassy against His Majesty King Love. XVII SOME PHILOSOPHERS I have frequently seen monarchs whose profession consisted in ruling the crowd. I have sometimes seen crowds that appeared to me mightier than the greatest of monarchs. More rarely I have encountered philosophers, out of touch with everything, who yet were able to create kingdoms within themselves. These last have seemed to me more affecting than the proudest of monarchs or the most impressive of crowds. Characteristic traits of some of these are worthy of being described here. I should like to try to do so, because of the emotions they have aroused in me. We were living at Passy, my mother and I, in a house situated in the centre of a garden. One day I heard some animated music coming from the street. I ran to the gate to look at the makers of this joyful harmony. A man and a woman were passing. The man played an accordion as he walked with short steps. He was blind, and his wife led him. The music was so sprightly, so different from the folk who were making it, that I hailed the pair. I wanted the man to play in the garden, behind the house, so that my mother, who was paralysed, might hear him. They consented very willingly. I made them sit down under a tree, near my mother’s chair, and the man played on the accordion until a servant came to say that lunch was served. I asked the man and his wife if they had eaten. When I discovered they had had nothing since the day before, I told the maid they were going to share our meal. [Illustration: LOIE FULLER IN HER GARDEN AT PASSY]