The Dragoman, with affected reluctance, quitted the room, to ascertain, as he asserted, the determination of His Excellency, but in reality to inform him of the Imperial masquerade; and in five minutes more the disguised Sultan and his favourite were ushered into the apartment of the Ambassador. After some inconsequent conversation, Selim inquired how the Baron had contrived to divert the weary hours of his captivity; and was answered that he had endeavoured to lighten them by books, and by gazing out upon the Sea of Marmora from his kiosk. Bulhakoff sighed as he made the reply, and remembered how much more they had been brightened by the affection of the fair Rèchèdi Hanoum; and he almost felt as though he were an ingrate that he did not add her smiles and her solicitude to the list of his prison-blessings. “The same volume and the same kiosk cannot please for ever;” said the Sultan with a smile; “and you would not, doubtlessly, be sorry to exchange your books against the conversation of your fellow-men; nor your view of the blue Propontis for one more novel. A prison is but a prison at the best, even though you may be locked up with all the courtesy in the world. But your captivity is not likely to endure much longer. _Shekiur Allah!_—Praise be to God—I am intimately acquainted with the Sultan’s favourite; and I know that, had not the meddling ministers of England and France sought to drive the new sovereign into an act of justice, which he had resolved to perform from inclination, you would have been, ere this, at liberty. Do not therefore be induced to lend yourself or your countenance to any intrigue that they may make to liberate you, and which will only tend to exasperate His Highness; but wait patiently for another month, and at its expiration you will be set free, and restored to your country.” “I trust that you may prove a true prophet—” said the Baron; and his visitors shortly afterwards departed. The days wore on; the month was almost at an end, and yet the captive noble had never ventured to breathe to the fair girl who loved him the probability of his liberation. He shrank from the task almost with trembling, for he felt that even to him the parting would be a bitter one—even to him, although he was about to recover liberty, and country, and friends. What, then, would it be to her? to “his caged bird,” as he had often fondly called her—who knew no joy save in his presence—no liberty save that of loving him! As the twilight fell sadly over the sea, and the tall trees of the prison-garden grew dark and gloomy in the sinking light, he remembered how ardently they had both watched for that still hour, soon to be one of tenfold bitterness to the forsaken Rèchèdi Hanoum; and there were moments in which he almost wished that she had never loved him.