Arrived at the Palace, they were conducted to a miniature courtyard, the buildings around which bore traces of having been lately painted and done up. The gate occupied the greater part of one side, guarded by the faithful Masûd, a gigantic and particularly ugly negro. The rooms on the other three sides were like those at the Residency, low and mean-looking on the ground-floor, but large and lofty above. “The apartments of Azim Bey,” said their guide, a tall Circassian woman who spoke French, with a wave of her hand towards the rooms on the right; “the apartments of mademoiselle,” indicating those on the left; “the Bey Effendi’s study and reception-room,” showing that in the middle. “We will look at your rooms, Cecil,” said Lady Haigh, and they mounted the stairs leading to the verandah. The “apartments” were three in number, and comprised a bedroom and sitting-room for Cecil, and a bedroom for Um Yusuf, opening out of her mistress’s. Another staircase led from the verandah to the roof, which was flat and surrounded by a parapet, with several orange-trees in great pots to give shade in hot weather. “But you won’t be able to stay up here when it is really hot, Cecil,” said Lady Haigh, “except just at night. You will have to spend the day in the cellars. We do it ourselves--every one does in Baghdad--and it’s not often that the thermometer is more than 88° down there.” They descended from the roof and entered the rooms. The bedroom furniture was evidently a “complete suite,” of the most highly-polished mahogany, imported from Europe at some trouble and expense. The things in the sitting-room were of the same style, but one or two chairs seemed not to have survived the journey, for their places were filled by a common Windsor arm-chair, and a very ornate Louis XV. _fauteuil_, with gilded and twisted legs. On a side-table was a gorgeous gilt clock, which did not go, and the walls were decorated with fearful oleographs, and one or two theatrical portraits, which the guide pointed out with great pride.