The next hour passed for Michael in one unbroken mood of absorption. The supreme moment of knowing the music intimately and of never having seen the opera before was his, and all that he had dreamed of or imagined as to the possibilities of music was flooded and drowned in the thing itself. You could not say that it was more gigantic than The Ring, more human than the Meistersingers, more emotional than Parsifal, but it was utterly and wholly different to anything else he had ever seen or conjectured. Falbe, he himself, the thronged and silent theatre, the Emperor, Munich, Germany, were all blotted out of his consciousness. He just watched, as if discarnate, the unrolling of the decrees of Fate which were to bring so simple and overpowering a tragedy on the two who drained the love-potion together. And at the end he fell back in his seat, feeling thrilled and tired, exhilarated and exhausted. “Oh, Hermann,” he said, “what years I’ve wasted!” Falbe laughed. “You’ve wasted more than you know yet,” he said. “Hallo!” A very resplendent officer had come clanking down the gangway next them. He put his heels together and bowed. “Lord Comber, I think?” he said in excellent English. Michael roused himself. “Yes?” he said. “His Imperial Majesty has done me the honour to desire you to come and speak to him,” he said. “Now?” said Michael. “If you will be so good,” and he stood aside for Michael to pass up the stairs in front of him. In the wide corridor behind he joined him again. “Allow me to introduce myself as Count von Bergmann,” he said, “and one of His Majesty’s aides-de-camp. The Kaiser always speaks with great pleasure of the visits he has paid to your father, and he saw you immediately he came into the theatre. If you will permit me, I would advise you to bow, but not very low, respecting His Majesty’s incognito, to seat yourself as soon as he desires it, and to remain till he gives you some speech of dismissal. Forgive me for going in front of you here. I have to introduce you to His Majesty’s presence.” Michael followed him down the steps to the front of the box. “Lord Comber, All-highest,” he said, and instantly stood back. The Emperor rose and held out his hand, and Michael, bowing over it as he took it, felt himself seized in the famous grip of steel, of which its owner as well as its recipient was so conscious. “I am much pleased to see you, Lord Comber,” said he. “I could not resist the pleasure of a little chat with you about our beloved England. And your excellent father, how is he?” He indicated a chair to Michael, who, as advised, instantly took it, though the Emperor remained a moment longer standing. “I left him in very good health, Your Majesty,” said Michael.