“But, alas,” went on the Stranger—and with the first note of his changed voice the visions vanished, the dingy walls came back—“these things take time. You will, all three, be well past middle-age before you will reap the just reward of your toil and talents. Meanwhile—” the sympathetic Stranger shrugged his shoulders—“it is the old story: genius spending its youth battling for recognition against indifference, ridicule, envy; the spirit crushed by its sordid environment, the drab monotony of narrow days. There will be winter nights when you will tramp the streets, cold, hungry, forlorn; summer days when you will hide in your attics, ashamed of the sunlight on your ragged garments; chill dawns when you will watch wild-eyed the suffering of those you love, helpless by reason of your poverty to alleviate their pain.” The Stranger paused while the ancient waiter replenished the empty glasses. The three friends drank in silence. “I propose,” said the Stranger, with a pleasant laugh, “that we pass over this customary period of probation—that we skip the intervening years—arrive at once at our true destination.” The Stranger, leaning back in his chair, regarded the three friends with a smile they felt rather than saw. And something about the Stranger—they could not have told themselves what—made all things possible. “A quite simple matter,” the Stranger assured them. “A little sleep and a forgetting, and the years lie behind us. Come, gentlemen. Have I your consent?” It seemed a question hardly needing answer. To escape at one stride the long, weary struggle; to enter without fighting into victory! The young men looked at one another. And each one, thinking of his gain, bartered the battle for the spoil. It seemed to them that suddenly the lights went out; and a darkness like a rushing wind swept past them, filled with many sounds. And then forgetfulness. And then the coming back of light. They were seated at a table, glittering with silver and dainty chinaware, to which the red wine in Venetian goblets, the varied fruit and flowers, gave colour. The room, furnished too gorgeously for taste, they judged to be a private cabinet in one of the great restaurants. Of such interiors they had occasionally caught glimpses through open windows on summer nights. It was softly illuminated by shaded lamps. The Stranger’s face was still in shadow. But what surprised each of the three most was to observe opposite him two more or less bald-headed gentlemen of somewhat flabby appearance, whose features, however, in some mysterious way appeared familiar. The Stranger had his wine-glass raised in his hand.