country would never give back her son; what a pity to see so superior a
man, a pride and credit to his country, perish, succumb, to the snares
of an obscure prude, who had not the sense to be his mistress, who was
incapable of loving him for a single day; an ambitious schemer, who had
determined to entrap him into marriage, but unhesitatingly sacrificed
him to M. de Villiers as soon as she found M. de Villiers was the richer
of the two, ... and many other flattering accusations she made, that
were equally ill-deserved. I quietly listened to all this abuse, and
went on preparing a glass of _eau sucree_ for the poor weeping fury,
whose conduct inspired me with generous pity. When she had finished her
tirade, I silently handed her the orange water to calm her anger, and I
looked at her ... my look expressed such firm gentle pride, such
generous indulgence, such invulnerable dignity, that she felt herself
completely disarmed. She took my hand and said, as she dried her tears:
"You must forgive me, I am _so_ unhappy!" Then I tried to console her; I
told her I would write to her son, and she would soon have him back, as
my letter would reach New York by the time he landed, and then it would
only take him two weeks to return. This promise calmed her; then I
persuaded her to lie down and recover from the fatigue of travelling all
night. When I saw her poor swollen eyelids fairly closed, I left her to
enjoy her slumbers and retired to my own room. I rested awhile and then
rang to order preparations for our departure; but instead of the servant
answering the bell, a pretty little girl, about eight years old, entered
my room; upon seeing me she drew back frightened.

"What do you want, my child?" I said, drawing her within the door.

"Nothing, madame," she said.

"But you must have come here for something?"

"I did not know that madame was in her room."

"What did you come to do in here?"

"I came, as I did yesterday, to see."

"To see what?"

"In there ... the Turks ..."

"The Turks? What! am I surrounded by Turks?"

"Oh! they are not in the little room adjoining yours; but through this
little room you can look into the large saloon where they all stay and
have music ... will madame permit me to pass through?"

"Which way?"

"This way. There is a little door behind this toilet-table; I open it,
go in, get up on the table and look at the Turks."

The child rolled aside the toilet-table, entered the little room, and