tyle. Well, to go on with my story. They brought
me to the stone pier before the house. Selim admitted me by a curiously
concealed panel at one end of the building, and we found ourselves in a
very narrow place, whence half a dozen steps ascended to a small door. A
little oil lamp burned in one corner. He led the way, and the door at
the top slid back into the wall. We entered, and he closed it again. We
were in the corner of a small room, richly furnished in the worst
possible taste. I dare say you know the style these natives admire.
Selim left me there for a moment. I looked carefully at the wall, and
tried to find the panel; but to my surprise, the wainscoting was
perfectly smooth and even, and I could not discover the place where it
opened, nor detect any spring or sign of a fastening. Laleli, I thought,
understood those things. Presently a door opened on one side of the
room, and I saw the figure I had often watched, beckoning to me to come.
Of course I obeyed, and she retired into the room beyond, which was very
high and had no windows, though I noticed that there was a dome at the
top, which in the day-time would admit the light."

"The Khanum was waiting for you?" I asked.

"Yes. I was surprised to see her dressed in the clothes she wore
out-of-doors, and as thickly veiled as ever. There were lights in the
room. She held out her small hand,--you remember noticing that she had
small white hands?"

"Like a young woman's," replied Balsamides.

"Yes. I took her hand, and spoke in French. I dare say I looked very
sentimental and passionate as I gazed into her black eyes. I could see
nothing of her face. She answered me in Turkish, which of course I could
not understand. All I could say was Pek guezel, very beautiful, which I
repeated amidst my French phrases, giving the words as passionate an
accent as I could command. At last she seemed to relent, and as she bent
towards me I expected that she was about to speak very softly some
Turkish love-word. What was my horror when she suddenly screamed into my
ear, with a hideous harsh voice, my own words, Pek guezel! In a moment
she threw off her black ferigee, and tore the thick veil from her head.
I could have yelled with rage, for I saw what a fool I had made of
myself, and that the old hag had played a practical joke on me in
revenge for the affair in the Valley of Roses. I cursed her in French, I
cursed her in Russian, I cursed her in English, and stamped about the