“You doubtless have all power over those who get down here,” I remarked. “But whilst a man or woman is yet on the earth there is still means of escape.” “Very rarely,” he commented, smiling. “Once let them get the noose round their necks, and the more they struggle the tighter grows the knot.” However, because I refused to go he returned with me to the palace. “You have missed a never-to-be-forgotten sight,” he said as he led the way to the library, where I had first been conducted. “You won’t succeed in journalism if you throw away opportunities like that.” “I shall merely leave the place for others,” I replied wearily, for weariness and dejection were a part of living here, except to those whose kingdom it was. “Genius,” he said as he sat down, “what do you think of my collection of books?” “It is very fine,” I answered, looking round. “But nothing out of the way for so great an individuality.” “What more does it need?” he asked as he looked round. “Nothing. And that is where it becomes uninteresting. You have everything.” “Yes,” he replied. “And I’m growing sick of it. One of these days I shall burn more than half the lying rubbish. I don’t know why I ever collected it.” “That would be a pity,” I rejoined. “To destroy so much beauty of thought would be very needless destruction.” “Not at all,” he observed sharply. “I am going—” Here he was interrupted by the opening of the door, and there entered several others very similar to him. “Plucritus, why were you not there?” queried the first comer. “It was an almost more amusing scene than that witnessed at Dino’s last week. But you were not here last week. What an age it is since we have seen you.” “And I am off again within this half-hour,” he interjected, looking at a curious watch he brought from the girdle of his tunic. “But tell me of this scene, was it much better than usual?” “Well, perhaps not better, but just as good. When—” “Don’t use names,” said Plucritus, hastily, as if he almost interpreted the other’s words. “Can’t you see I have a guest?” “No,” answered the other, looking round superciliously. “Or rather,” he added, “we met Vestné without and she explained that you had here a beggar dependent on your charity.” “Really—” broke in another, and then his tone altered to one of mock courtesy. “Your wardrobe seems somewhat scanty, sir. May I offer you a change of raiment?” “This stranger surely has come from earth,” interrupted a third. “That planet which is one of our most fruitful gardens. Such a rarity deserves a golden cage and a public show day.” “Why, this is he who wished to make a friend of that cold saint Virginius and failed,” put in another. “Thereby proving himself for once not such a saint as he appears,” laughed a fifth. “This is the spirit who wrote a book and confounded the devil with something less powerful than himself,” said a sixth.