certain hypocrisy as due to virtue.

Whilst Monte Carlo is chiefly, I might say exclusively, identified in the
general mind with gambling, and was indeed at the outset but a gambling
resort, it long ago outgrew the limits of the Casino, becoming a Mecca
of the world of fashion as well as the world of sport. Half the ruling
sovereigns of Europe and all the leaders of European swelldom, the more
prosperous of the demi-mondaines and no end of the merely rich of every
land, congregate there and thereabouts. At the top of the season the show
of opulence and impudence is bewildering.

The little principality of Monaco is hardly bigger than the Cabbage Patch
of the renowned Mrs. Wiggs. It is, however, more happily situate. Nestled
under the heights of La Condamine and Tete de Chien and looking across
a sheltered bay upon the wide and blue Mediterranean, it has better
protection against the winds of the North than Nice, or Cannes, or Mentone.
It is an appanage--in point of fact the only estate--remaining to the once
powerful Grimaldi family.

In the early days of land-piracy Old Man Grimaldi held his own with Old Man
Hohenzollern and Old Man Hapsburg. The Savoys and the Bourbons were kith
and kin. But in the long run of Freebooting the Grimaldis did not keep
up with the procession. How they retained even this remnant of inherited
brigandage and self-appointed royalty, I do not know. They are here under
leave of the Powers and the especial protection, strange to say, of the
French Republic.

Something over fifty years ago, being hard-up for cash, the Grimaldi of the
period fell under the wiles of an ingenious Alsatian gambler, Guerlac by
name, who foresaw that Baden-Baden and Hombourg were approaching their