``I am the Prince,'' said the stranger,
bowing low.

There was no hint of the pavement-
made ruler in the information he gave,
but rather of the desire of one gentleman
to set another right at the beginning.
The musician assumed a position
of open-mouthed wonder, gazing
steadily at the visitor.

``Satan?'' he whispered hoarsely.

``You need help and advice,'' said
the visitor, his voice sounding like that
of a disciple of the healing art, and
implying that he had thoroughly diagnosed
the case.

``No, no,'' cried the shuddering
violinist; ``go away. I do not need you.''

``I regret I can not accept that
statement as gospel truth,'' said Satan,
sarcastically, ``for if ever a man needed
help, you are that man.''

``But not from you,'' replied Diotti.

``That statement is discredited also