Mohammed, like a wise man, had foreseen that I should stay at the Kasre.

The dinner this time was served in the French style. He did not sit down

with us as he had done the day before; I had no longer need of him, and

he returned to the obscure position which he was henceforth to occupy

during my visits. I sat down to table, therefore, with my houris; and

this meal, in which everything was new to them, became a veritable

feast. They nibbled and tasted a bit of everything with exclamations of

surprise, with careful investigations, and with little gourmandish airs

of inexpressible charm. I should tell you that my cook only won their

unanimous approbation at dessert, when they commenced to make a sort of

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second dinner of sweets and cakes, creams and fruit. The champagne

pleased them above all things, and would have ended by turning their

little heads, but for my careful attention. Whilst they vied with each

other in merriment and gay prattle, I was thinking of that oriental meal

of the night before in which I had seated myself by them in the reserved

attitude of a stranger. What a dream fulfilled! What fairy's wand had

produced this magical effect? I tell you it was a regular transformation

scene. At dessert Hadidjé bent her head down to me with a mischievous

look, and laughed as she spoke some Turkish word.

"Sana yanarim!" I replied, emphasizing the sentence with a kiss on her

hand. I had learnt from Kondjé-Gul that it means "I love you," or more

literally, "I am burning for you."

You may guess how successful this was, and with what shouts of joy it

was received. Of course there followed a little make-believe scene of

jealousy on the part of the others.

"Kianet! ah, Kianet!" they repeated, laughing, and threatening me with

uplifted fingers. This expression signifies "ungrateful."

When evening arrived I took them into the park to calm the warmth of

their emotions down a little. It was a splendid moonlight night, and the

long black shadows of the trees stretched over the walk. As we passed

these dark places the timid creatures pressed close about me.

Ah! well, you don't expect me, I suppose, to tell you how this day was

concluded? Affairs of the harem, my dear fellow!--affairs of the harem!

As to my other news, I hardly need tell you that nobody in this

neighbourhood has a suspicion of the secrets of El-Nouzha. In my

external life I conform to all the social requirements of my position. I

visit my uncle's old friends, Féraudet the notary, and the good old

vicar, who calls me the Providence of the place. Once a week I dine with

the doctor, Morand; who has a son, George Morand, an officer in the

Spahis, on leave for the present at Férouzat; and an orphan niece, a

young lady of nineteen, lively and sympathetic. She is engaged to her

cousin the captain, who is a regular Africain, a fire-eater you may

call him, but a good fellow in the full sense of that word--one of those

open natures made for devotion, like a Newfoundland dog, or a poodle. He

is both formidable and patient. Such is my friend! We were playmates as

children, and he would not brook the slightest insult to me in his

presence. He wonders very much at my anchorite's life, and in order to

divert me from it, endeavours to draw me into the hidden current of

rustic gallantries which he indulges in while awaiting the day of Hymen.




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