“I was rather a spectator of it than an actor in it,” said Lothair, with some seriousness. “It is too long a tale to enter into, but my part in those proceedings was entirely misrepresented.” “I believe that nothing in the newspapers is ever true,” said Madame Phoebus. “And that is why they are so popular,” added Euphrosyne; “the taste of the age being so decidedly for fiction.” “Is it true that you escaped from a convent to Malta?” said Madame Phoebus. “Not quite,” said Lothair, “but true enough for conversations.” “As confidential as the present, I suppose?” said Euphrosyne. “Yes, when we are grave, as we are inclined to be now,” said Lothair. “Then, you have been fighting a good deal,” said Madame Phoebus. “You are putting me on a court-martial, Madame Phoebus,” said Lothair. “But we do not know on which side you were,” said Euphrosyne. “That is matter of history,” said Lothair, “and that, you know, is always doubtful.” “Well, I do not like fighting,” said Madame Phoebus, “and for my part I never could find out that it did an good.” “And what do you like?” said Lothair. “Tell me how would you pass your life?” “Well, much as I do. I do not know that I want any change, except I think I should like it to be always summer.” “And I would have perpetual spring,” said Euphrosyne. “But, summer or spring, what would be your favorite pursuit?” “Well, dancing is very nice,” said Madame Phoebus. “But we cannot always, be dancing,” said Lothair. “Then we would sing,” said Euphrosyne. “But the time comes when one can neither dance nor sing,” said Lothair. “Oh, then we become part of the audience,” said Madame Phoebus, “the people for whose amusement everybody labors.” “And enjoy power without responsibility,” said Euphrosyne, “detect false notes and mark awkward gestures. How can any one doubt of Providence with such a system of constant compensation!” There was something in the society of these two sisters that Lothair began to find highly attractive. Their extraordinary beauty, their genuine and unflagging gayety, their thorough enjoyment of existence, and the variety of resources with which they made life amusing and graceful, all contributed to captivate him. They had, too, a great love and knowledge both of art and nature, and insensibly they weaned Lothair from that habit of introspection which, though natural to him, he had too much indulged, and taught him to find sources of interest and delight in external objects. He was beginning to feel happy in this islands and wishing that his life might never change, when one day Mr. Phoebus informed them that the Prince Agathonides, the eldest son of the Prince of Samos, would arrive from Constantinople in a few days, and would pay them a visit. “He will come with some retinue,” said Mr. Phoebus, “but I trust we shall be able by our reception to show that the Cantacuzenes are not the only princely family in the world.”