We walked slowly across the Circus. It was thronged with a night crowd, and seemed like some strange octagonal room, walled by moving coloured lights. Here lay a scene that remained eternally the same whatever the conditions of life--a scene that neither war, nor pestilence, nor famine could change. We stood by the fountain, immersed in our thoughts. "I used to enjoy this kind of thing," said Sarakoff at length. "And now?" "Now it is curiously meaningless--absolutely indecipherable." We walked on and entered Coventry Street. Here Sarakoff suddenly pushed open a door and I followed him. We found ourselves in a brilliantly illuminated restaurant. A band was playing. We sat down at an unoccupied table. "Harden, I wish to try an experiment. I want to see if, by an effort, we can get back to the old point of view." He beckoned to the waiter and ordered champagne, cognac, oysters and caviare. Then he leaned back in his seat and smiled. "Somehow I feel it won't work," I began. He held up his hand. "Wait. It is an experiment. You must give it a fair chance. Come, let us be merry." I nodded. "Let us eat, drink and be merry," I murmured. I watched the flushed faces and sparkling eyes around us. So far we had attracted no attention. Our table was in a corner, behind a pillar. The waiter hurried up with a laden tray, and in a moment the table was covered with bottles and plates. "Now," said Sarakoff, "we will begin with a glass of brandy. Let us try to recall the days of our youth--a little imagination, Harden, and then perhaps the spell will be broken. A toast--Leonora!" "Leonora," I echoed. We raised our glasses. I took a sip and set down my glass. Our eyes met. "Is the brandy good?" "It is of an admirable quality," said Sarakoff. He put his glass on the table and for some time we sat in silence. "Excuse me," I said. "Don't you think the caviare is a trifle----?" He made a gesture of determination. "Harden, we will try champagne." He filled two glasses. "Let us drink off the whole glass," he said. "Really, Harden, we must try." I managed to take two gulps. The stuff was nasty. It seemed like weak methylated spirits. "Continue," said Sarakoff firmly; "let us drink ourselves into the glorious past, whither the wizard of alcohol transports all men." I took two more gulps. Sarakoff did the same. It was something in the nature of a battle against an invisible resistance. I gripped the table hard with my free hand, and took another gulp. "Sarakoff," I gasped. "I can't take any more. If you want to get alcohol into my system you must inject it under my skin. I can't do it this way." He put down his glass. It was half full. There were beads of perspiration on his brow. "I'll finish that glass somehow," he observed. He passed his hand across his forehead. "This is extraordinary. It's just like taking poison, Harden, and yet it is an excellent brand of wine."