"Certainly," said Mahommed, looking as astonished as I did. "His Excellency, Barbassou-Pasha, your uncle, whose eunuch I had the honour of being, commanded me to purchase four maidens for his harem. Since he is dead, and your lordship takes his place as master--I had supposed--" "Ah!!!" I won't attempt to render for you the full force of the exclamation to which I gave vent. You may guess the feelings conveyed in it. In very truth I thought I should go out of my senses this time. The dream of "The Thousand and One Nights" was being realised in my waking hours! This extraordinary and sumptuous palace was a harem, and this harem was mine! These four Scheherazades, whose glorious youthfulness and fascinating charms had scorched me like fire, they were my slaves, and only awaited a sign or token of my desire! Mohammed, incapable of conceiving my agitation, regarded me with a pitiful, confused look, as if he anticipated some disgrace. At this moment the old Greek woman brought him the keys: there were four. He handed them to me. "Thank you," I said; "now you may leave me." He obeyed, saluted me without a word, and went out. As soon as I found myself alone, not intending to restrain my feelings any more, I began to march about the drawing-room like a madman, and gave free vent to the outburst of a joy which overwhelmed me. I picked up from the carpet a ribbon dropped there by Kondje-Gul, I pressed it to my lips with avidity; next some scattered flowers, with which Hadidje and Zouhra had played. Louis, I hope you do not expect me to analyse for your benefit all the extraordinary sensations which I experienced at that moment. The events which befel me verged upon the supernatural--the supernatural cannot be described--and I know not any legend, romance, or novel, relating to this world, which has ever treated such an astounding situation as that of which I was the hero. Those severe middle-class parents who give their daughters, for New Year's presents, M. Galland's "Arabian Nights," with illustrations of the amorous adventures of the Caliph of Bagdad, would find such a romance as mine quite too "strong," simply because the scene is not laid in Persia, or at Samarcand. Nevertheless, my story is identical in character, and the most modest young lady might read it without a frown, if only my name were Hassan instead of Andre. Would you like to know everything that can agitate the mind of a mortal in such a position as mine? Listen, then.