Chapter One<br > The<br > Rotting Apple<br >PRINCE PROSPERO was an indefatigable， some might say an imper-<br >vious man. The plague of the "Red Death" had entered the homes<br >of half his minions， causing rapid bleeding and sudden death. But<br >Prince Prospero remained undaunted. As told by Edgar Allan Poe<br >in The Masque of the Red Death， the Prince blithely summoned a<br >thousand of his heartiest knights and dames and retreated to a<br >magnificent castle， where they would defy the contagion.<br > A lofty wall stood between them and the populace， its gates<br >made of iron and， as an extra precaution， sealed with sturdy bolts.<br >There was no need to step outside the palace:<br >it was folly to grieve， or to think. The prince had provided all the ap-<br >pliances of pleasure. There were buffoons， there were improvisatori，<br >there were ballet-dancers， there were musicians， there was Beauty，<br >there was wine. All these and security were within. Without was the<br >"Red Death."<br > Gaiety prevailed. For six months， they partied and danced to the<br >music of a full orchestra， waltzed freely through the seven brightly<br >colored chambers， paused to listen to the chimes from the giant<br >ebony clock， ignored the bright sun which was tamed by thick，<br >beautiful stained-glass Gothic windows. Prince Prospero was con-<br >tent. Yet he wished to do something new， something different， some-<br >