The story of a life; the story of an unknown city; the story of men who dreamed dreams; the story of mercy and of death, of darkness and of light, of order and of chaos; the story of myself, Irwin Trevena, who set down these things as I have seen and known them.
his time of night?"
"Sir," continued I, "that is no business of yours. Will you please to explain this masquerade?"
"Explanations, doctor," replied he, seating himself most impudently at the head of the table, "should give way to the more serious things of life. Look, now, do you think I am a rogue?"
I looked at him closely, and my suspicions died away. Who that ever saw Rocco did not love him?
"At any rate," said I, "tell me something."
"With pleasure," cried he. "This champagne is 1874 Heidsieck. Let me fill your glass."
I WAIT FOR THE LIGHT.
THE supper we now enjoyed was, as I say, served perfectly; the wine was such as only a man of rare palate could buy. My companion, who cal