"Ah--oh, yes, me!" I awoke sharply from admiration of her trailing lashes. The burning hotel was developing a splendid light wherein to see them. "I was writing--and I thought that Russian woman had a few friends to supper,--and I was looking for a rhyme when I found you," I concluded, with a fine coherence. She looked up. It was incredible, but those heavy lashes disentangled quite easily. I was seized with a desire to see them again perform this interesting feat. "Verses?" said she, considering my slippers in a new light. "Yes," I admitted, guiltily--"of Helen." She echoed the name. It is an unusually beautiful name when properly spoken. "Why, that is my name, only we call it Elena." "Late of Troy Town," said I, in explanation. "Oh!" The lashes fell into their former state. It was hopeless this time; and manual aid would be required, inevitably. "I should think," said my compatriot, "that live women would be more--inspiring" "Surely," I assented. I drew my gown about me and sat down. "But, you see, she is alive--to me." And I dwelt a trifle upon the last word. "One would gather," said she, meditatively, "that you have an unrequited attachment for Helen of Troy." I sighed a melancholy assent. The great eyes opened to their utmost. The effect was as disconcerting as that of a ship firing a broadside at you, but pleasanter. "Tell me all about it," said she, coaxingly. "I have always loved her," I said, with gravity. "Long ago, when I was a little chap, I had a book--_Stories of the Trojan War_, or something of the sort. And there I first read of Helen--and remembered. There were pictures--outline pictures,--of quite abnormally straight-nosed warriors, with flat draperies which amply demonstrated that the laws of gravity were not yet discovered; and the pictures of slender goddesses, who had done their hair up carefully and gone no further in their dressing. Oh, the book was full of pictures,--and Helen's was the most manifestly impossible of them all. But I knew--I knew, even then, of her beauty, of that flawless beauty which made men's hearts as water and drew the bearded kings to Ilium to die for the woman at sight of whom they had put away all memories of distant homes and wives; that flawless beauty which buoyed the Trojans through the ten years of fighting and starvation, just with delight in gazing upon Queen Helen day by day, and with the joy of seeing her going about their streets. For I remembered!" And as I ended, I sighed effectively. "I know," said she. "'Or ever the knightly years had gone With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon And you were a Christian slave.'"