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Luitpold Wolkenstein did not wait for the quorum of domino players to arrive. They would all have read the article in the Freie Presse. And there are moments when an oracle finds its greatest salvation in withdrawing itself from the area of human questioning. "War is a cruelly destructive thing," said the Wanderer, dropping his newspaper to the floor and staring reflectively into space.

The diplomatic corps. General von Schweinitz. Sir Robert Morier; his victory over the United States at the Paris Arbitration Tribunal; its causes; its lessons. Last days of Sir Robert Morier at St. Petersburg; his last appearance at Court. Count de Montebello. Husny Pasha. Marochetti. Count Wolkenstein. Van Stoetwegen and his views regarding peace in Europe.

The Austrian ambassador, Count Wolkenstein, was, in many things, the most trustworthy of counselors; more than once, under trying circumstances, I found his advice precious; for he knew, apparently, in every court of Europe, the right man to approach, and the right way to approach him, on every conceivable subject.

For years longer than a dog's lifetime Luitpold Wolkenstein had disposed of the pretensions and strivings of the Balkan States over the cup of cream-topped coffee that sleek-headed piccolos had brought him.

The other was the Austrian ambassadress, Countess Wolkenstein, whom I had slightly known, years before, as Countess Schleinitz, wife of the minister of the royal household at Berlin.

The Great Powers cannot overlook the fact that a people that has tasted victory will not let itself be driven back again within its former limits. Turkey has lost to-day not only Kirk Kilisseh and Kumanovo, but Macedonia also." Luitpold Wolkenstein drank his coffee, but the flavour had somehow gone out of it.

Nay, Oswald von Wolkenstein, a prince amongst troubadours, wearing his golden chain and brilliant orders, has brought tears from many a gentle eye as he sang to his harp his pathetic elegies, the cruelty of Sabina his lady, and his adventures in England, Spain and Persia.

Luitpold Wolkenstein, financier and diplomat on a small, obtrusive, self- important scale, sat in his favoured cafe in the world-wise Habsburg capital, confronted with the Neue Freie Presse and the cup of cream- topped coffee and attendant glass of water that a sleek-headed piccolo had just brought him.

To-day Luitpold Wolkenstein read no more than the first article in his paper, but read it again and again.