round shoulders, and her lovely young bosom, were such that one
was almost tempted to believe that she had been carried off bodily
from some Parisian salon, where they know so well how to take the
utmost advantage of all the resources of fashion. Her locks were
dressed up _a la Valliere_, with negligently falling curls which gave
a slightly masculine expression to her face--an additional charm in
the eyes of a connoisseur. Yes, the Greek merchant was right; there
was no spot on the earth worth anything except the place where Milieva
lived and moved.

The Valideh kissed the odalisk on the forehead, and led her by the
hand to the Sultan, who would not permit her to kiss his hand (who
ever heard of a lady kissing the hand of a gentleman in evening
dress?), but permitted the young heir to the throne to take Milieva on
his arm and conduct her through the room. What a pretty pair of
children they made! Abdul Mejid at this time was scarce twelve years
of age, the girl perhaps was fourteen; but for the difference of their
clothes, nobody could have said which was the boy and which the girl.

And now the tones of the hidden orchestra began to be heard, and a
fresh surprise awaited the Sultana. She heard once more the pianoforte
melodies which she had known long ago, and the height of her amazement
was reached when the Sultan invited her to dance--a minuet.

What an absurd idea! The Sultana dowager to dance a minuet with her
son, the Sultan, before all those laughing odalisks, who had never
beheld such a thing before? Where was the second couple? Why here--the
prince and Milieva, of course. They take their places opposite the
imperial couple, and to slow, dreamy music, with great dignity they
dance together the courteous and melancholy dance, bowing and
courtesying to each other with as much majesty and _aplomb_ as was
ever displayed by the powdered cavaliers and beauty-plastered
goddesses of the age of the _OEil de Boeuf_.

Never had such a spectacle been seen in the Seraglio.

The Sultana herself was amazed at the triumphant dexterity which
Milieva displayed in the dance; she was a consummate maid of honor,
with that princely smile for which Gabrielle D'Estrees was once so
famous. The good Mahmoud so lost himself in the contemplation of the
eyes of Milieva, his _vis-a-vis_, that towards the end of the dance he
quite forgot his own part in it, folding Milieva to his breast in
defiance of all rule and ceremony, and even kiss