Prince Shan gave an order to one of the servants who had followed them into the room and threw himself at full length among the cushions, his head resting upon his hand, his face turned towards his guest.
"They will bring you the aperitif of which you are so fond," he said, "also cigarettes.

Mine, I know, are too strong for you." "They taste too much of opium," Immelan remarked.
Prince Shan's eyes grew dreamy as he gazed through a little cloud of odorous smoke.
"There is opium in them," he admitted.

"Believe me, they are very wonderful, but I agree with you that they are not for the ordinary person." The soft-footed butler presented a silver tray, upon which reposed a glassful of amber liquid.

Immelan took it, sipped it appreciatively, and lit a cigarette.
"Your man, Prince," he acknowledged, "mixes his vermouths wonderfully." "I am glad that what he does meets with your approval," was the courteous reply.

"He came to me from one of your royal palaces.