The music below grew fainter and died. Those with us upon the terrace remained silent, awaiting the pleasure of the Princess. When she spoke at last it was to Ferratoni, and then I noticed for the first time that he had brought, or caused to be brought, a little case which I recognized as one of his telephones. We had known that for the entertainment of the Princess he had been experimenting with his materials, and we realized that he was about to demonstrate from the elevation of the temple the practicability of his invention. Remembering what we had been told of the national prejudice against mechanical progress, I momentarily doubted the wisdom of such an exhibition, but reflected that with the approval of the Princess the result could hardly be otherwise than pleasant. Those who remained with us seemed also to encourage the experiment, and showed some interest as to the outcome. They were those of the inner household. Among them were the three to whom Chauncey Gale, Mr. Sturritt and myself had paid some slight social attention (the merest courtesies, indeed, as courtesies go in that land) since our arrival in the Lilied Hills. Ferratoni now arranged the telephone apparatus and adjusted it carefully, explaining to us, meantime, that he had constructed another which he had left at the palace below, whence a little party of those returning would presently communicate with us. When all was ready, he touched the annunciator bell, but there came no response. Evidently those who were to answer had not yet reached the palace. We waited a little in expectant silence—then once more he touched the bell. Still no response—our friends at court were proceeding but leisurely, as was their wont. Indeed a mental communication just then established the fact that they had paused for refreshments in the palace gardens. I thought Ferratoni looked a little annoyed. He was anxious, I suppose, to please the Princess, though the latter showed no impatience. Refreshments and pausing were the peaceful characteristics of her gentle race. While we waited I found myself recalling some of the former times when the little telephone had brought messages from the unseen. I recalled the first trial, when we were frozen in the pack, and Edith Gale and I had carried it to the top of the lonely berg, and so listened to Ferratoni’s mysterious message from the ship—the message all now could understand. I remembered, too, the chill waiting on the top of the Pacemaker when voices from the Billowcrest heartened me and gave me comfort and hope. And then there came the recollection of the weary days when, toiling down the great white way, we had been cheered and encouraged by the voices of those behind, and of the desolate nights when I had found peace and repose in the soothing influence of “Old Brown Cows.”