Charlie composed his features and bowed with due solemnity, and then delivered his burden of books with a polite message from Lady Haigh. Having done this, he seemed to intend his visit to be considered as a friendly call, for he made several vain attempts to thaw the cool reserve of Azim Bey, who sat regarding him with disapproving eyes. Cecil was on thorns, fearing that her pupil would proceed to say something rude, and it was scarcely a matter of surprise to her when he remarked in his clearest tones-- “At this period of the day, monsieur, mademoiselle and I are engaged with our studies. As I am certain that mademoiselle has no desire that these should be interrupted by the visits of her acquaintances, I may remark that if Milady Haigh has any message to send after this, it will be unnecessary for M. le docteur to put himself to the pain of bringing it.” Cecil turned crimson, and even Charlie looked confused for a moment. But his presence of mind did not forsake him, and he bowed politely, regretted that he had trespassed on the patience of mademoiselle and of the Bey, and took his departure. “I do believe that little beggar’s inclined to be jealous,” he said to himself as he left the Palace and went back to the Residency, satisfied about Cecil, and thinking no more about Azim Bey and his ways. Cecil dared not say anything to her pupil about his rudeness, fearing lest he should think she had some personal feeling in the matter. After all, she was not sorry that Dr Egerton should have received his _congé_ so decisively, for it would never have done if he had taken it into his head to call again, and she was only thankful that the incident of the books should have ended so happily. But she was reckoning without her host, for the incident was not yet terminated. Two or three days after the destruction of the French novels, Azim Bey came in from a ride with his father in a state of high self-satisfaction. “It is not good to speak kindly to a wicked man--to treat him with distinction--is it, mademoiselle?” “To treat him with distinction? Certainly not,” said Cecil. “Well, mademoiselle, I have treated the wicked man rightly; for M. Karalampi is a wicked man, is he not? You said so yourself.” “I know I did; but I didn’t mean you to be rude to him, Bey,” answered Cecil, in some alarm. “What have you done?” “We passed him to-day, mademoiselle, walking with the French Consul, and I refused to take the slightest notice of either of them; for the Consul must also be wicked, since he lent M. Karalampi the books at first. Well, presently, when we halted, M. Karalampi approached me with an air of familiarity, and inquired with sorrow how he had offended me. I told him that I did not desire any further association with him, and that I no longer considered him as one of my intimates.”