adulation, imitation, the homage of the fairest, honours from the highest, praise from the wisest, flattery, esteem, credit, pleasure, fame—­all the honey of life was waiting in the comb in the hive of the world for Prince Michael, of the Electorate of Valleluna, whenever he might choose to take it.  But his choice was to sit in rags and dinginess on a bench in a park.  For he had tasted of the fruit of the tree of life, and, finding it bitter in his mouth, had stepped out of Eden for a time to seek distraction close to the unarmoured, beating heart of the world.

These thoughts strayed dreamily through the mind of Prince Michael, as he smiled under the stubble of his polychromatic beard.  Lounging thus, clad as the poorest of mendicants in the parks, he loved to study humanity.  He found in altruism more pleasure than his riches, his station and all the grosser sweets of life had given him.  It was his chief solace and satisfaction to alleviate individual distress, to confer favours upon worthy ones who had need of succour, to dazzle unfortunates by unexpected and bewildering gifts of truly royal magnificence, bestowed, however, with wisdom and judiciousness.

And as Prince Michael’s eye rested upon the glowing face of the great clock in the tower, his smile, altruistic as it was, became slightly tinged with contempt.  Big thoughts were the Prince’s; and it was always with a shake of his head that he considered the subjugation of the world to the arbitrary measures of Time.  The comings and goings of people in hurry and dread, controlled by the little metal moving hands of a clock, always made him sad.

By and by came a young man in evening clothes and sat upon the third bench from the Prince.  For half an hour he smoked cigars with nervous haste, and then he fell to watching the face of the illuminated clock above the trees.  His perturbation was evident, and the Prince noted, in sorrow, that its cause was connected, in some manner, with the slowly moving hands of the timepiece.

His Highness arose and went to the young man’s bench.

“I beg your pardon for addressing you,” he said, “but I perceive that you are disturbed in mind.  If it may serve to mitigate the liberty I have taken I will add that I am Prince Michael, heir to the throne of the Electorate of Valleluna.  I appear incognito, of course, as you may gather from my appearance.  It is a fancy of mine to render aid to others whom I think worthy of it.  Perhaps the matter that seems to distress you is one that would more readily yield to our mutual efforts.”

The young man looked up brightly at the Prince.  Brightly, but the perpendicular line of perplexity between his brows was not smoothed away.  He laughed, and even then it did not.  But he accepted the momentary diversion.

“Glad to meet you, Prince,” he said, good humouredly.  “Yes, I’d say you were incog. all right.  Thanks for your offer of assistance—­but I don’t see where your butting-in would help things any.  It’s a kind of private affair, you know—­but thanks all the same.”