rted Alexander.

"If you walked down the Boulevard des Italiens in Paris on Easter Day
and kissed every woman you met, merely saying, 'The Lord is risen,' by
way of excuse, as we do in Russia, you would discover that customs are
not the same everywhere."

"You are as slow as an ox-cart, Paul," said Alexander.

"The simile is graceful. Thank you. As I say, you may do anything you
please, as you are a stranger here. But if you do anything flagrantly
contrary to the manners of the country, you will not find my chief
disposed to help you out of trouble. We are disliked enough
already,--hated expresses it better. Come along. Take a turn upon the
quay before dinner, and then we will go to Stamboul and see the
ceremony."

"I hate the quay," replied Alexander, who was now in a very bad humor.

"Then we will go the other way. We can walk through Mesar Burnu and get
to the Valley of Roses."

"That sounds better."

So the two turned northwards, and followed the quay upstream till they
came to the wooden steamboat landing, and then, turning to the left,
they entered the small Turkish village of Mesar Burnu. While they walked
upon the road Alexander could still follow the caique, now far ahead,
shooting along through the smooth water, and he slackened his pace more
slowly when it was out of sight. The dirty little bazaar of the village
did not interest him, and he was not inclined to talk as he picked his
way over the muddy stones, chewing his discontent and regretting the
varnish of his neat boots. Presently they emerged from the crowd of
vegetable venders, fishmongers, and sweetmeat sellers into a broad green
lane between two grave-yards, where the huge silent trees grew up
straight and sad from the sea of white tombstones which stood at every
angle, some already fallen, some looking as though they must fall at
once, some still erect, according to the length of time which had
elapsed since they were set up. For in Turkey the headstones of graves
are narrow at the base and broaden like leaves towards the top, and they
are not set deep in the ground; so that they are top-heavy, and with the
sinking of the soil they invariably fall to one side or the other.

Paul turned again, where four roads meet at a drinking fountain, and the
two brothers entered the narrow Valley of Roses. The roses are not,
indeed, so numerous as one might expect, but the path is beautiful,
green and quiet, and below it the tinkle of a little stream is