, and
noticed unfailingly that whenever black was most heavily backed red won,
and whenever the major part of the money was on red black turned up. We
formed our own conclusions, and in our sober hours at least declined to
play at that particular table.

There was a tremendous fight in these rooms one evening, which was begun
in a comic way enough by Captain Georg von A------, of the 4th Konig's
Dragoons--a handsome, dashing young giant of a cavalry officer, who had
done excellent service against the French at Gravelotte, and who was now
bent on joining that ill-fated Polish Legion which was for a while
the receptacle into which was swept half the scoundreldom and half the
honest adventurous spirit of young Europe.

Poor dear old Campbell, dead these many years now (he fell under
Wolseley leading the black contingent on Secocoeni's Height), the young
German captain, and myself, had dined together, and Von A------ had
dined not wisely, but too well. He had learned a word or two of
Turkish, and, supposing that the inhabitants of the Grande Rue and
the frequenters of the Concert Flamm were Turks, he rose and uttered
a patriotic phrase, 'Chokularishah Padishah!' which means, as I am
informed on credible authority, 'May the Sultan live for ever!' All
the befezzed and bearded gentry, hook-nosed, sloe-eyed and greasy of
complexion, who frequented the cafe of Monsieur Napoleon Flamm were
Greeks and Armenians, and whether the Sultan lived for ever or died next
day they did not care one jot They stared somewhat impolitely at the
handsome fair-haired young German, but said nothing. He carried on his
parable in Turkish: 'Muscov dormous,' and illustrated his meaning by
drawing his thumb with Masonic vigour across his windpipe.

The words and the action together were meant to signify that the Russian
was a hog and ought to have his throat cut Straightway up stood a
little Greek with a 'Je suis Muscov, monsieur,' and the captain promptly
knocked him down. He had not meant to do anything of the sort, but the
mere windy buffet of his big hand toppled the little Levantine on to the
floor. There was an immediate shindy. A coffee-cup was hurled by
some indignant compatriot of the man assaulted and sent a splendid
looking-glass, seven or eight feet high, to irremediable ruin< A
coffee-cup in a Constantinople cafe is made of porcelain as thick as a
lady's little finger, and weighs something like a quarter of a pound.
In less time than it