s, it was only natural that the day
celebrated by his return should give birth to some other incidents of
importance.

I had just left my uncle, and was walking towards the library to write
at once to the notary, when Francis informed me that a woman from the
Kasre had been waiting an hour to see me. One of the Greek servants came
sometimes to the chateau, either with messages or to await my orders. I
concluded at once that, not having seen me either during the day or in
the evening, my little animals had grown anxious and were sending to
inquire after me. I went to my room, where Francis said the woman was.
As I entered I saw her standing up, motionless, near the window, wrapped
in her great black feridjie; but I had hardly shut the door behind me
when, all at once, I heard a cry and sobs. The feridjie fell down, and I
recognised Kondje-Gul, who threw herself on to my neck and seized me in
her arms with signs of the deepest despair.

"Good gracious!" I said, "is that you? _You_ come here?"

Breathless and suffocated with tears, she could not answer me. I
guessed, rather than heard, these words:

"I have run away! I have come to die with you!"

"But you are mad, dear, quite mad!" I exclaimed. "Why should you die?
What has happened then?"

"Oh, we know all!" she continued. "Barbassou-Pasha has returned. He is a
terrible man. He is going to kill you; us also; Mohammed also!"

And raving with fear she clung to me with all her strength, just as if
she were already threatened with death.

"But, my dear child," I said, "this is all madness--who in the world has
told you such nonsense?"

"Mohammed. He heard of the Pasha's return--he has hidden himself."

"But my uncle is a very kind man--he adores me, and does not even intend
to see you. Nothing will be changed for us by his return."

Seeing me so calm, she was gradually reassured. Still she was too much
possessed by her Turkish notions to believe all at once in such a
departure from correct oriental usages.

"Well then," she said as she dried her tears, "he will only kill
Mohammed?"

"Not even Mohammed!" I exclaimed, with a smile. "Mohammed is a poor
coward, and I will give him a bit of my mind to-morrow, so that he
shan't worry you with any more nonsense of this kind."

"You don't mean it?" she replied. "Then he will only get a beating?"

I was about to protest, when I perceived by her first words that she
suspected I wanted to play upon her credulity. Ther