re
more shaded,--not more sad, but less carelessly happy than they used to
be,--and the delicate color was fainter in her transparent skin. There
was an indescribable look of gravity about her, something which made me
think that she was very much in earnest with her life.

"Paul is at the hotel," I said, rather loudly, when the first meeting
was over. "He has made everything comfortable for you up there. The
kavass will see to your things. Let us go ashore at once, out of all
this din."

We left the steamer, and landed where the carriages were waiting. John
talked all the time, recounting the incidents of the journey, the
annoyance they had had in crossing the Danube at Rustchuk, the rough
night in the Black Sea, the delight of watching the shores of the
Bosphorus in the morning. When we landed, Chrysophrasia turned suddenly
round and surveyed the scene.

"We are not in Constantinople at all," she said, in a tone of bitter
disappointment.

"No," said Macaulay; "nobody lives in Stamboul. This is Galata, and we
are going up to Pera, which is the European town, formerly occupied by
the Genoese, who built that remarkable tower you may have observed from
the harbor. The place was formerly fortified, and the tower has now been
applied to the use of the fire brigade. Much interest is attached"----

How long Macaulay would have continued his lecture on Galata Tower is
uncertain. Chrysophrasia interrupted him in disgust.

"A fire brigade!" she exclaimed. "We might as well be in America at
once. Really, John, this is a terrible disappointment. A fire brigade!
Do not tell me that the people here understand the steam-engine,--pray
do not! All the delicacy of my illusions is vanishing like a dream!"

Chrysophrasia sometimes reminds me of a certain imperial sportsman who
once shot an eagle in the Tyrol.

"An eagle!" he cried contemptuously, when told what it was. "Gentlemen,
do not trifle with me,--an eagle always has two heads. This must be some
other bird."

In due time we reached the hotel. Paul was standing in the doorway, and
came forward to help the ladies as they descended from the carriage,
greeting them one by one. When his mother got out, he respectfully
kissed her hand. To the surprise of most of us, Madame Patoff threw her
arms round his neck, and embraced him with considerable emotion.

"Dear, dear Paul,--my dear son!" she cried. "What a happy meeting!"

Paul was evidently very much astonished, but I will do