cast of countenance; his face seemed to be all angles.  The brow was square and prominent, projecting at the corners; the nose was quite high and aquiline; the hair had the look of being dyed; a long, thick black mustache covered his upper lip, but it could not quite conceal the hard, cynical and sneering expression of his mouth; great bags of flesh hung beneath the small, furtive eyes.  Altogether the face reminded me of the portraits of Napoleon the Third, who was thought by many to have had little of Napoleon in him except the name.

There was about Prince Cabano that air of confidence and command which usually accompanies great wealth or success of any kind.  Extraordinary power produces always the same type of countenance.  You see it in the high-nosed mummied kings of ancient Egypt.  There is about them an aristocratic hauteur which even the shrinking of the dry skin for four thousand years has not been able to quite subdue.  We feel like taking off our hats even to their parched hides.  You see it in the cross-legged monuments of the old crusaders, in the venerable churches of Europe; a splendid breed of ferocious barbarians they were, who struck ten blows for conquest and plunder where they struck one for Christ.  And you can see the same type of countenance in the present rulers of the world—­the great bankers, the railroad presidents, the gigantic speculators, the uncrowned monarchs of commerce, whose golden chariots drive recklessly over the prostrate bodies of the people.

And then there is another class who are everywhere the aides and ministers of these oppressors.  You can tell them at a glance—­large, coarse, corpulent men; red-faced, brutal; decorated with vulgar taste; loud-voiced, selfish, self-assertive; cringing sycophants to all above them, slave-drivers of all below them.  They are determined to live on the best the world can afford, and they care nothing if the miserable perish in clusters around their feet.  The howls of starvation will not lessen one iota their appetite or their self-satisfaction.  These constitute the great man’s world.  He mistakes their cringings, posturings and compliments for the approval of mankind.  He does not perceive how shallow and temporary and worse than useless is the life he leads; and he cannot see, beyond these well-fed, corpulent scamps, the great hungry, unhappy millions who are suffering from his misdeeds or his indifference.

While I was indulging in these reflections the members of the government were arriving.  They were accompanied by servants, black and white, who, with many bows and flexures, relieved them of their wraps and withdrew.  The door was closed and locked.  Rudolph stood without on guard.

I could now rise to my feet with safety, for the council-chamber was in a blaze of electric light, while the conservatory was but partially illuminated.