Picture to yourself a sweetly perfumed room, both rich and coquettish in its arrangements, lined with Indian silk hangings of gay colours, and illumined by the soft light of a small chandelier of three branches. In front of a large glass Kondje-Gul was seated, her long hair reaching down to the floor. With her bare arms uplifted, and her head turned backwards, she held in her hand a golden comb. Seeing me, she uttered a little cry, got up with a bound, and blushing all the while, and fixing upon me her great frightened eyes, she rested motionless and almost in a tremble. Her agitation communicated itself to me. "Did I frighten you?" I commenced, trying to speak with a firm voice; "and will you pardon me for coming in like this?" She did not answer a word, but lowered her eyes, a smile glanced furtively over her lips, and then, with her hand on her bosom, she bowed to me. "Kondje-Gul! Dear Kondje-Gul!" I exclaimed, touched to the depths of my soul by this act of submission. And springing towards her, I took her in my arms to chase away her fears; I kissed her brow, which she offered to me, pressing her face against my bosom, with a lovely bashful look of alarm. "You have come, then!" she whispered. "Did you imagine I did not love you?" said I, as truly affected as she was. At this question she raised her head with an inexpressible languor and smiled again, looking into my eyes, and so close that our lips met. Louis, is it true that the ideal embraces the infinite, and that the human soul soars into regions so sublime that the blisses of this world below cannot satisfy it?... I did not want to quit the harem without having also seen Hadidje, Zouhra, and Nazli. Poor little dears, no doubt they already fancied themselves disdained! I must dry up their tears. You will understand by this time the complications in my uncle's will which have prevented me, these four months past, from finding a minute to write to you. I will relate to you the incidents of this remarkable situation, of this quadruple passion by which I am possessed to such an extent that I am sincere in all my professions. You may tell me, if you like, from the commonplace standpoint of your own limited experiences, that it is all madness. I love, I adore, after the manner of a poet or a pagan--as you like, in fact--but what does it all amount to? My uncle, who was a Mussulman, leaves me his harem; what could I do? If it should happen that your work leaves you a little leisure, _don't_ come to Ferouzat; you understand? That's what we sultans are like! The girls are dying to see Paris; very likely I shall turn up there one of these days. I need hardly impress upon you, I suppose, the advisability of keeping this letter most carefully from the eyes of your wife. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER II.