THE weather turned off warm. The rise in the temperature may have been responsible for the melting of Princess Mariana Theresa Sebastano Michelini Celestine di Pavesi's heart, or it may have sharply revealed to her calculating mind the prospect of a long and profitless season in cold storage for Prince de Bosky's fur-lined coat. In any event, she notified him by post to call for his coat and take it away with him. The same post brought a letter from the Countess du Bara advising him that her brother-in-law, who conducted an all-night café just off Broadway in the very heart of the thriftless district, had been compelled to dismiss the leader of his far-famed Czech orchestra, and that she had recommended him for the vacancy. He would have to hurry, however. In a postscript, she hoped he wouldn't mind wearing a red coat. The Countess du Bara was of the Opera, where she was known as Mademoiselle Belfort and occupied a fairly prominent position in the front row of chorus sopranos. Some day she was to make her début as a principal. The Director of the Opera had promised her that, and while she regarded his promise as being as good as gold, it was, unfortunately, far more elastic, as may be gathered from the fact that it already had stretched over three full seasons and looked capable of still further extension without being broken. But that is neither here nor there. It is only necessary to state that the Countess, being young and vigorous and satisfactorily endowed with good looks, was not without faith in the promises of man. In return for the Director's faith in her, she was one day going to make him famous as the discoverer of Corinne Belfort. For the moment, her importance, so far as this narrative is concerned, rests on the fact that her brother-in-law conducts a café and had named his youngest daughter Corinne, a doubtful compliment in view of his profane preference for John or even George. He was an American and had five daughters. De Bosky was ecstatic. Luck had turned. He was confident, even before he ventured to peer out of his single little window, that the sun was shining brightly and that birds were singing somewhere, if not in the heart of the congested East Side. And sure enough the sun was shining, and hurdy-gurdies were substituting for bobolinks, and the air was reeking of spring. A little wistfully he regretted that the change had not come when he needed the overcoat to shield his shivering body, and when the "opportunity" would have insured an abundance of meat and drink, to say nothing of a couple of extra blankets,--but why lament?