"You are mistaken," said I. "She loves Paul much more than she herself
imagines. I saw her face to-day when Paul was lying on the edge of the
precipice. You did not. I have watched them ever since they have been
together in Constantinople, and I am convinced that she loves Paul, and
not Alexander. What do you intend to do with Madame Patoff? You know I
have a little party at my cottage on Saturday,--you promised to come. Is
it safe to let her come, too?"

"Perfectly," answered my companion. "The only thing to be done at
present is to prevent her remaining alone with Paul."

"Suppose that Paul tells what happened this afternoon. What then?"

"He will not tell it. I have a great admiration for the fellow, he is so
manly. If she had done worse than that, he would not tell any one,
because she is his mother. But he will be on his guard, never fear. She
will not get such a chance again. Good-night."

The professor left me at the door of the garden through which I had to
pass to reach the little kiosk. I walked slowly up through the roses
and the flowers, meditating as I went. Paul had a new enemy in the
professor, who would certainly try and help Alexander, in order to
continue his experiments upon Madame Patoff's mind. Poor Paul! He seemed
to be persecuted by an evil fate, and I pitied him sincerely.

XXIV.

It was Saturday afternoon, and my preparations for my little tea-party
were complete. Gregorios Balsamides had arrived from Pera, and we were
waiting for the Carvels, seated on the long bench before the house,
where the view overlooks the Bosphorus. The sun had almost set, and the
hills of Asia were already tinged with golden light, which caught the
walls of the white mosque on the Giant's Mountain,--the Yusha-Dagh,
where the Mussulmans believe that Joshua's body lies buried; Anadoli
Kavak was bathed in a soft radiance, in which every line of the old
fortress stood out clear and distinct, so that I could see the very spot
where Paul had fallen a few days before; the far mouth of the Black Sea
looked cold and gray in the shadows below the hills, but down below, the
big steamers, the little yachts, the outlandish Turkish schooners, and
the tiny caiques moved quickly about in the evening sunshine. My garden
was become a wilderness of roses in the soft spring weather, too, and
each flower took a warmer hue as the sun sank in the west, and slowly
neared the point where it would drop behind the European forelan