"Well, see me once more on my travels. I have deserted you, dearest, in the most shameful manner, have once more parted company with dear old England—for, notwithstanding my faithlessness, I love her—and the worst of it is that I have not the remotest idea whither I am bound. I am to go somewhere, and that is all that either I or my feet care about. They were beside themselves with joy, and frisked—nay, positively twinkled to such an extent, that it was a treat to see them. They are perfect beauties, I assure you, at such moments, and out-do themselves in expression. "All the information I had was that I was wanted for another journey to Africa. But what part of Africa? And with whom was I destined to travel? What would be the component parts of the expedition? Should I be mixed up with geologists, astronomers, naturalists, zoologists, hydrographers, ethnologists, ideologists, ornithologists, or ethnographers? For expeditions, worthy the name, are made up of all those elements; they are the real stock-in-trade of a caravan. "On my arrival in Paris, after presenting my letters of introduction to Madame de Guéran, I asked her to present me to the scientific members of the expedition, and she, to begin with, introduced me to a little doctor, who, in the sweetest voice imaginable, said— "'Miss Poles, I have far more confidence in your experience than in my own diplomas. If we are ill, you are the one to take care of us, and I resign my functions into your hands.' "'And, in that case, what are you going to do?' I asked. "'I shall devote myself to natural history,' was the reply. "And, so saying, he looked me up and down with an air of the greatest curiosity, as if I were some specimen in spirits of wine in a bottle. "My next introduction was to a literary individual, and a very good-looking fellow into the bargain. "'Miss Poles,' he commenced, 'I hear that you have been a prisoner with the Thouaregs, and I hope you will do me the favour of recounting to me your adventures whilst in the midst of that whimsical tribe. I should like to work them up into an article for the "_Revue de France_.' "'Certainly not, sir,' said I, horrified, 'certainly not. The bare idea of having every detail of my life held up to the public gaze revolts me.' "'Pardon me, if I have been indiscreet,' was his reply. 'I thought yours was merely a case of ordinary captivity.' "'And, I, sir, never said it was not.' "'My dear Miss Poles,' went on this impudent little animal, 'if I had only known that—' "'Once more, sir—' "'Not a word. Miss Poles, not a word. I will not ask any more questions.' "Truly, these Parisians are unbearable. Judge for yourself. The last individual presented to me was a M. de Morin, a painter. Without giving me time to put my hair straight, or arrange my dress, or strike an attitude, out came his pencils, and in I went into his album.