of her mother was accomplished, as you know, for
the girl was purchased for a good round sum by Mohammed. Thus poor
Kondje-Gul fulfilled her destiny. Then she related to me how her mother,
several years ago, had found a better situation for herself with a
French consul at Smyrna, and had learnt French there.

Kondje-Gul's idea was a happy one, and I was inclined to entertain it. I
consented to her writing to Smyrna, and some days later she received an
answer to the effect that in about a couple of months her mother would
be able to join her providing the requisite means were sent her for this
purpose. I have a house in view where they can live together. It is a
little house belonging to Count de Teral, who is on his way back to
Lisbon: one might really fancy he had got it ready on purpose for me.

What have you to say to this, you profound moralist?

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

CHAPTER VIII.

Again you complain of my silence, in a letter written with the object of
overwhelming me with abuse; and you mix up sarcasms (through which your
childish curiosity is very transparent) with philosophical remarks which
reveal the snobbishness of your nature. In fact, from the tone of your
letters, one might imagine I was threatened by strange complications,
and that you were hoping every morning to read the account of some
catastrophe. For once in a way your longing for an important event will
not be disappointed, for I have a weighty piece of news for you. As it
belongs to the most strictly moral order of events, you may listen
without any anxiety.

As you are aware, my aunt and uncle came to Paris a fortnight ago, and
will stay here all the winter. The house in the Rue de Varennes has
resumed its gay honours; we give receptions, dinners, and everything
else that you are familiar with, but embellished this time by the
presence of the charming Countess of Monteclaro, who supplies that
lively element of family life which we rather missed formerly. My aunt
has discovered here a young cousin of hers, Count Daniel Kiusko, a
capital fellow, whom I have quite made friends with.

Having given you these details, I will now proceed with my story.

The other morning, after breakfast, as I was about to return to my room
(for whatever you may believe, I am working hard just now), my uncle
stopped me, and without any further preliminaries began:

"By the way, Andre, I expect Madame Saulnier and my god-daughter Anna
Campbe