risk, and I shall oblige both my clients, which
is always my endeavour."

I agreed to the good sense of the proposal, and my old friend advanced
me some louis to enable me to improve my appearance. Advising me not to
show myself too much, he offered me a bed at his house. I left him to
procure a more decent wardrobe; and for better disguise, fitted myself
with an officer's undress suit, and having purchased a few other
necessaries, returned to his house.

"Well, upon my honour, you do justice to your dress. I don't wonder at
Mademoiselle de Fonseca falling in love with you. That is a sad story
though--I don't know whether I ought to trust you with my housekeeper,
for she is very young and very pretty. Promise me, on your honour, that
you will not make love to the poor girl, for I have an affection for
her, and will not have her added to your list of broken hearts."

"Mention it not, I beg, sir," replied I, mournfully; "my heart is dead
and buried with her whose name I have just mentioned."

"Well, then, go up stairs and introduce yourself. I have people waiting
in the next room."

I obeyed his directions, and when I entered the parlour above, perceived
a youthful figure working at her needle, with her back towards me. She
turned her head at my approach--what was my amazement, what was my
delight, when I beheld Cerise!

* * * * *

"Holy prophet," exclaimed the pacha, "is that woman come to life again?"

"She was never dead, your highness, and will occupy your attention more
than once, if I am to proceed with my voyages."

"But I hope there will be no more love scenes."

"Only the present one, your highness: for after that we were married."

* * * * *

Cerise looked at me for one moment, screamed, and fell lifeless on the
floor. I caught her in my arms, and as she lay senseless, called her by
her name, and imprinted a hundred kisses on her lips.

The noise had alarmed the old gentleman, who unobserved by me, came in,
and witnessed the scene. "Upon my honour, sir, considering your promise
to me just now, you are making rather free."

"'Tis Cerise, my dear sir--Cerise!"

"Cerise de Fonseca?"

"Yes, the same, the dear girl whom I have ever lamented."

"Upon my soul, Mr Francois, you've a talent for adventures," said the
old gentleman, leaving the room, and returning with a tumbler of water.
Cerise was soon restored, and lay trembling in my arms