The kiosk is large and well-built. In the combination of hall and ante-room a white marble fountain is always playing. One of the two pianos in Angora stands in a corner; these are both, alas, more ornamental than useful, made, one could guess, somewhere about 55 B.C.! A large desk, some fine plants, and the usual Turkish or Persian rugs complete the furniture. One door leads into the Pasha’s mother’s apartments, the other to his own sitting-room. [Illustration: On the wall of Mustapha Kemal Pasha’s study the Sultan Osman, first of the House of Osman, looks down on Mustapha Kemal Pasha, who has ended the dynasty. ] I could scarcely believe that I was speaking to the legislator, as my host rose to greet me from his Western red-leather sofa. Without his kalpak, his fair hair, well brushed back, his close-cropped moustache, his well-tailored clothes with the correct crease, would surely carry him through a London drawing-room without a guess that he was not English, or, at any rate, not from the North. Again, his keen sense of humour is not common among the Turks, and it was a delight to find how heartily he joined in the laugh which his delightful stories provoked. I am told that the Pasha’s type and colouring are not uncommon in his native Roumelia—as ever, the North is fair! Noticing some “Napoleon” literature on one of the writing-tables, I regretted that “I had not thought of bringing a book about the ‘little Corsican,’ instead of merely offering my congratulations on a magnificent victory.” “Please never think of such a thing,” he replied. “He interests me as a great general, but——” “I understood your interest amounted almost to veneration, or so it is said.” “What a strange rumour! I naturally study all the great strategists; but to compare the Sakharia with Austerlitz is surely no great compliment.” [Illustration: The Ante-room at Tchan-Kaya. ] Though I confess to being considerably startled by this emphatic declaration, it reminded me of a conversation with Monsieur Clemenceau some years before the war. “He told me,” I said, “that he considered Lord Rosebery’s enthusiastic admiration of Napoleon had been almost a blot on his own political career.... ‘Where is the greatness of that vain egoist?’ asked the outspoken Frenchman. ‘I consider myself a hundred times greater, for this simple reason: When Napoleon came down he fell for ever. When I, or my country, are down, then I am at my greatest and best.’” Though M. Kemal could smile at the Gallic boasting, while honouring the boaster, his own criticism was more quietly expressed: “Napoleon put ambition first. He fought for himself, _not_ for ‘the Cause’—with the inevitable _débâcle_.”