"Be so good as not to calumniate my woman's heart! What do I care for your country, and its laws, so long as you love me? I don't care to know either your society, or its customs, or its conventionalities. I belong to you, and I love you; that is all I see, all I feel. I am neither your wife, nor your mistress. From the depths of my soul I feel that I am more than either. I am your slave, and I wish to preserve my bonds. Command me, do what you like with me; and when you love me no longer, kill me, that's all!" "Yes, dear!" I replied, laughing at her rhapsodies, "I will sew you up in a sack, and go and throw you in the Bosphorus some evening!" She received this remark with a peal of childish laughter. "Goodness me!" she said, in her confusion; "why, I was quite forgetting that I am civilised!" Count Teral's house has been quite a find for us; it seems just as if it had been built expressly for Kondje-Gul and her mother. On the ground-floor, approached by a short flight of eight steps, is a drawing-room, which opens into a sort of hall, resembling an artist's studio. The latter serves as picture-gallery, library, and concert-room. Above the wainscoting the eye is relieved by silk hangings, of a large grey-striped pattern on white ground, in contrast with which is the rich garnet of a velvet-covered suite of furniture. There are some curious old cabinets in carved ebony, set out with statuettes, vases, flowers, and nick-nacks. The general effect is lively, enchanting, and luxurious; in fact, just what the home of a young lady of patrician birth, who confines herself to a small circle of friends, should be. On the first floor are the private apartments, and on the second the servants' rooms. The establishment is maintained on the elegant, yet simple scale, which seems proper for members of good society; they keep three horses, and a neat brougham: nothing more. Their luxuries, in short, are all in the well-considered style suitable for a rich foreign lady and her daughter, who mix in Parisian society with the reserve and delicate taste of two women anxious to avoid attracting too much attention. Kondje-Gul's private life is contrived, as well as everything else, to preserve her against solitude or dulness. She is completing her "civilisation" with industrious zeal. Every morning, from eight o'clock to twelve, is devoted to work; governesses from Madame Montier's come to continue her course of lessons; then from one to two she practises on the piano. Her curious mind, with its mixture of ardent imagination and youthful intelligence, is really producing a wonderful intellectual structure upon its original foundation of native belief and superstitions. I am often quite surprised by hearing her display, on the subject of our social contradictions, an amount of observation and a grasp of view which would do credit to a philosopher.