he kind before.

"Griggs is growing to be a true Oriental," said Balsamides, approvingly;
"he understands how the Turks live."

"Yes," I answered, "I present you the thing in all its bareness. You may
take this as a specimen of an Eastern house. People are apt to fancy
that those long, latticed houses on the Bosphorus conceal unheard-of
luxuries, and that the people live like Sybarites. It is quite untrue.
They either try to imitate the French style, and do it horribly, or else
they live in great bare rooms like these."

"What do the women do all day long?" asked Chrysophrasia. "I am sure
they do not pass their time upon a straw matting, staring at each
other,--so very dreary!"

"Nevertheless they do," said Gregorios. "They smoke and eat sweetmeats
from morning till night, and occasionally an old woman comes and tells
them stories. Some of them can read French. They learn it in order to
read novels, but cannot speak a word of the language."

"Dreary, dreary!" sighed Chrysophrasia. "And then, the division of the
affections, you know,--so sad."

"Many of them die of consumption," said Gregorios.

"It would be curious to watch the phases of their intelligence," said
the professor, slowly sipping his coffee, and staring out of the window
through his great gold-rimmed spectacles.

The sun had gone down, and the darkness gathered quickly over the
beautiful scene. At one of the windows Hermione sat silently enjoying
the evening breeze; Alexander was seated beside her, while Paul stood
looking out over her head. Neither of the two men spoke, but from time
to time they exchanged glances which were anything but friendly.
Outside, my man and the gardener were lighting the little lamps, and
gradually, as each glass cup received its tiny light, the festoons of
white and red grew, and seemed to creep stealthily from tree to tree.
The conversation languished, and the deepening twilight brought with it
that pleasant silence which is the very embodiment of rest descending at
evening on the tired earth.

"It is like an evening hymn," said Mrs. Carvel, whose gentle features
were barely visible in the gloom.

No one spoke, but I fancied I saw John Carvel lay his hand
affectionately on his wife's arm, as they sat together. There was a
light above the eastern hills, brightening quickly as we looked, and
presently the full moon rose and shed her rays through the low open
windows, making our faces look white and deathly in the dark