Hadidjé is a Jewess of Samos, a Jewess of a type singularly rare among

the descendants of Israel. She is a blonde of a mingled tint, soft and

golden, of which the Veronese blonde will give you no idea. Her beauty

is undoubtedly one of those effects of selection and crossing admitted

as the foundation of Darwin's system.... England has left her trace

there! Picture to yourself one of those "Keepsake" girls escaped from

Byron's "Bride of Abydos" or his "Giaour;" take some such charming

creature, fair and fresh-complexioned, white and pink, and plunge her in

the atmosphere of the harem, which will orientalise her charms and give

her that--whatever it is--which characterises the undulating

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fascinations of the sultanas.

My dear friend, an incredible event has happened--an event astounding,

unheard of, supernatural! Don't try to guess; you will never succeed,

never! It surpasses the most prodigious and miraculous occurrence ever

imagined by human brain.

Yesterday I had broken off my letter, distracted by Hadidjé, at the very

moment when I was tracing her portrait for you. The day passed away

before I again found leisure to finish it. This morning I was

breakfasting at the château all alone in my study, where I generally

have my meals, in order not to interrupt my work. While I was

ruminating over the last number of a scientific magazine, my ear was

struck by the noise of a carriage rolling over the gravel walk. As I

very seldom receive visits, and my friend George, the spahi, always

comes on foot, I thought it must be my notary coming to stir me up about

some business matters; he had been reproaching me the last fortnight for

neglecting them. The carriage stopped in front of the doorsteps. I heard

the servants running across the antichamber. Suddenly I heard a cry,

followed by confused voices, which sounded as though trembling with

fright, and finally fresh sounds of steps, rushing headlong, as in a

sudden rout. Wondering what this might mean, I listened, when all of a

sudden a stentorian voice shouted out these words:-"But what's the matter with those blockheads? How much longer are they

going to leave me here with my bag?"

Louis, imagine my amazement and stupefaction! I thought I recognised the

voice of my dead uncle, which in the brazen notes of a trumpet grew

louder and louder, adding in a pompous, commanding tone-"François! if I catch you, you rascal, you'll soon know what for!"

I jump up, run to the window, and see quite distinctly my uncle,

Barbassou Pasha himself.




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