If she had sent me to fetch the Cham of Tartary's cap or a hair of the Prester John's beard, I would have telephoned forthwith to Rogers to pack a suit-case and book a seat in the Orient express.
What would have happened next Heaven alone knows--for we could not have gone on gazing at each other until I backed myself out at the door by way of leave-taking--had not Anticlimax arrived in the person of Mr.
Anastasius Papadopoulos in his eternal frock-coat.

But his gloves were black.
As usual he fell on his knees and kissed his lady's hand.

Then he rose and greeted me with solemn affability.
"_C'est un privilege de rencontrer den gnadigsten Herrn_," said he.
Confining myself to one language, I responded by informing him that it was an honour always to meet so renowned a professor, and inquired politely after the health of Hephaestus.
"Ah, Signore!" he cried.

"Do not ask me.

It is a tragedy from which I shall never recover." He sat down on a footstool by the side of Madame Brandt and burst into tears, which coursed down his cheeks and moustache and hung like drops of dew from the point of his imperial.
"Is he dead ?" asked Madame.
"I wish he were! No.