INGOMEDE THE BEAUTIFUL A light, chilling drizzle had been falling all evening, pattering softly upon the roof of leaves that covered the sidewalks along Castle Avenue, glistening on the lamp-lit pavements and blowing ever so gently in the faces of those who walked in the dripping shades.

Far back from the shimmering sidewalks, surrounded by the blackest of shadows, and approached by hedge-bordered paths and driveways, stood the mansions occupied by the nobility of this gay little kingdom.

A score or more of ancient palaces, in which the spirit, of modern aggression had wrought interior changes but had left the exteriors untouched, formed this aristocratic line of homes.

Here were houses that had been built in the fifteenth century,--great, square, solemn-looking structures, grown grey and green with age.
There were lights in a thousand windows along this misty, royal road--lights that reflected the pleasures of the rich and yet caused no envy in time hearts of the loyal poor.
Almost in the centre of the imposing line stood the home of the Duke of Perse, Minister of Finance, flanked on either side by structures as grim and as gay as itself, yet far less significant in their generation.

Here dwelt the most important man in the principality, not excepting the devoted prime minister himself.