"The sallow-faced, beady-eyed Turk who did not dance, and who took no champagne, was evidently her particular friend. I inquired of the Italian minister and found that the thin-faced bearded _attache_ was named Mehmed Zekki, and that he had been in Sofia only a couple of months. "Towards me he was quite affable, even effusive. He mentioned that he had noticed me in the Club, dining with the Prime Minister, and he referred to a number of people in Belgrade who were my friends. He was _attache_ there, he told me, for two years--after the _coup d'etat_. "Twice during next day I encountered the charming Olga, driving with her aunt, in a smart victoria, and during the next week met them at several diplomatic functions. "One afternoon, Olga and her chaperone accepted my invitation for a run on the `sixty,' and I took them for a little tour of about thirty miles around the foot of the high Balkans, returning along the winding banks of the Isker. They were delighted, for the afternoon was perfect. I drove, and she sat up beside me, her hand on the horn. "One night, ten days later, we were sitting out together in the bright moonlight in the garden of the Austrian Legation, and I found her not averse to a mild flirtation. I knew that the frock-coated Turk was jealous, and had become amused by it. On four or five occasions she had been out for runs with me--twice quite alone. "I mentioned the Turk, but she only laughed, and shrugging her shoulders, answered: "`All Turks are as ridiculous as they are bigoted. Mehmed is no exception.' "I was leaving Bulgaria next morning, and told her so. "`Perhaps, mademoiselle, we shall meet again some day, who knows?' I added, `You have many friends in the diplomatic circle, so have I.' "`But you are not really going to-morrow!' she exclaimed with undisguised dismay, opening her blue eyes widely, `surely you will stay for the ball at the palace on Wednesday.' "`I regret that is impossible,' I replied, laughing. `I only wish I could remain and ask you to be my partner, but I have urgent business in Bucharest.' "`Oh! you go to Roumania!' she cried in surprise. `But,'--she added wistfully, `I--I really wish you could remain longer.' "During our brief friendship I had, I admit, grown to admire her immensely, and were it not for the fact that a very urgent appointment called me to Roumania, I would have gladly remained. She had taken possession of my senses. "But I took her soft hand, and wished her adieu. Then we returned into the ballroom, where I found several of my friends, and wished them farewell, for my train left at nine next morning. "In a corner of the room stood the veteran Prime Minister, with a star in brilliants upon his dress-coat, the empty sleeve of which hung limply at his side. "`_Au revoir, mon cher ami_,' he said grasping my hand warmly. `Recollect what I told you this morning--and return soon to Bulgaria again. _Bon voyage_!'