Bertier’s heart swelled within him at the thought of so glorious an opportunity.  His fame, he felt, was already established in Italy.  It became a matter of pride to do the thing handsomely, and the necessary business arrangements called out all his unused resources of delicacy and diplomacy.  When it came to the decoration of the opera house, he called upon Pettingill for assistance, and together they superintended an arrangement which curtained off a large part of the place and reduced it to livable proportions.  With the flowers and the lights, the tapestries and the great faded flags, it became something quite different from the usual empty theater.

To the consternation of the Italians, the work had been rushed, and it was on the evening after their arrival in Milan that Brewster conducted his friends in state to the Scala.  It was almost a triumphal progress, for he had generously if unwittingly given the town the most princely sensation in years, and curiosity was abundant.  Mrs. Valentine, who was in the carriage with Monty, wondered openly why they were attracting so much attention.

“They take us for American dukes and princesses,” explained Monty.  “They never saw a white man before.”

“Perhaps they expected us to ride on buffaloes,” said Mrs. Dan, “with Indian captives in our train.”

“No,” “Subway” Smith protested, “I seem to see disappointment in their faces.  They are looking for crowns and scepters and a shower of gold coin.  Really, Monty, you don’t play the game as you should.  Why, I could give you points on the potentate act myself.  A milk-white steed, a few clattering attendants in gorgeous uniforms, a lofty nod here and there, and little me distributing silver in the rear.”

“I wonder,” exclaimed Mrs. Dan, “if they don’t get tired now and then of being potentates.  Can’t you fancy living in palaces and longing for a thatched cottage?”

“Easily,” answered “Subway,” with a laugh.  “Haven’t we tried it ourselves?  Two months of living upon nothing but fatted calves is more than I can stand.  We shall be ready for a home for dyspeptics if you can’t slow down a bit, Monty.”

Whereupon Mrs. Dan evolved a plan, and promptly began to carry it out by inviting the crowd to dinner the next night.  Monty protested that they would be leaving Milan in the afternoon, and that this was distinctly his affair and he was selfish.

But Mrs. Dan was very sure.  “My dear boy, you can’t have things your own way every minute.  In another month you will be quite spoiled.  Anything to prevent that.  My duty is plain.  Even if I have to use heroic measures, you dine with me to-morrow.”

Monty recognized defeat when he met it, and graciously accepted her very kind invitation.  The next moment they drew up at the opera house and were ushered in with a deference accorded only to wealth.  The splendor of the effect was overpowering to Brewster as well as to his bewildered guests.  Aladdin, it seemed, had fairly outdone himself.  The wonder of it was so complete that it was some time before they could settle down to the opera, which was Aida, given with an enthusiasm that only Italians can compass.