We put up our horses at an old rickety Turkish khan, which an enterprising French sutler had turned into a species of hotel, for over the door a gay signboard, painted in tricolour, informed us that it was "_Le restaurant de l’Armée d’Orient, pour messieurs les officiers et sous-officiers_." There we had a bottle of excellent Greek wine, in a large whitewashed room, full of French officers, of every branch of the service and of all ranks, who received us with great politeness. They were all smoking cigarettes, chatting, laughing, playing chess or dominoes, and reading the _Moniteur_ or _Charivari_, which last caricatured the Russians as unmercifully as our good friend _Punch_ ever did. Their gaiety and _étourdi_ fashion of quizzing the women who passed drew many a scowl of wonder and reprehension from the turbaned, shawled, and solemn Turks, for few of the believers took kindly to "the sons of perdition who had come to aid them and the Vicar of God—the refuge of the world—from the Muscovite dog," as one was heard to say; "and at the behest of a queen—a woman—_Allah razolsum!_" he added, with special reference to us. "What a change all this is from our recent barrack life at Maidstone," said Studhome. "We see such strange scenes—a new world here." "For our used-up guardsmen and hussars, who have been hitherto bored by the mere aimlessness and emptiness of their lives, our friend, the Emperor Nicholas, has certainly provided that which Sir Charles, in _Used Up_, would call a ’new sensation,’ and a little healthy excitement." A young sous-lieutenant of Zouaves was particularly vehement and droll in describing a certain Egyptian magician, who had shown some wonderful things to him and his friends. His words seemed to excite much laughter, and, on drawing nearer, I discovered him to be Jules Jolicoeur, the Zouave, who had now been promoted to the rank of second-lieutenant in his regiment, in the ranks of which the cholera had already made sad ravages. "Monsieur Jolicoeur," said I; "a magician, do you say?" "_Peste!_ you know my name," said he, smiling, while he pirouetted about and twirled his moustache. "I have to congratulate you on your promotion. Better this than poring over Lemartinière, Ambrose Paré, and so forth, at the Ecole de Médecin, eh?" "_Parbleu, monsieur!_ how do you come to know all this?" he asked, with pardonable surprise. "Perhaps I am a magician too," said I, laughing. "But this Egyptian of whom you tell us—he is a juggler, I presume?" "_Jouer—joueuse de gobelets_, you mean? Oh, no. In a little water or ink, poured into the hollow of your hand, he will show you the face of any friend you most desire to see. It is miraculous." "_Diable!_" exclaimed Victor Baudeuf, a well-decorated captain of a French line regiment; "then he shall show me Mogador." The name of this well-known French dancer elicited a burst of laughter; but Jolicoeur said— "Monsieur, you should call her Madame la Comtesse de Chabrillan!"