At present Carmen Sylva is holding court on Mount Sinaia, a district which the royal authoress has charmingly described in "Tales of the Pelesh." The Roumanian sovereign's summer residence is the Mecca of hundreds of scientists, artists, and literary men and women, every season. There one meets no end of celebrities, and all are cordially welcomed by king and queen, who give each a day or two to become thoroughly acquainted, and then politely proffer their regrets that the guest's departure should be made necessary by the host of other names on the court marshal's invitation list.
     At Pelesh Queen Elizabeth and her ladies wear the national costume, a motley garb, the most unusual feature of which is the apron, worn at the back, and made of damask silk of a very delicate red, streaked with silver threads. A chemise of white wool, very soft and fine, and richly embroidered at the neck, sleeves, and edgings, serves for a waist.
     Carmen Sylva has a classical mouth, a musical voice, deep set eyes of light blue, and teeth of pearly whiteness. Her wavy hair is prematurely white, but her tall, fine figure stands as erect as ever. Her majesty's complexion is fresh and healthy, her step elastic, and her whole manner winsome.
     Behold, in contrast to this truly royal woman, her quondam "friend" and all but destroyer—Helène Vacaresco. Below medium height, dark skinned, of full figure, she has thick lips, an abundance of raven tresses, and a smooth, round forehead. Like most ancient families of Roumania the