rprised, Louis, if for the rest of this page I scrawl like a
monkey. At the recollection of this scene, my eyes are quite obscured
by a veil of mist. By Jove, so much the worse! for now it's all breaking
into real tears.

Dear me, what a brick of an uncle he is to me!

Notwithstanding Barbassou-Pasha's Turkish tactics, and in spite of the
happiness which for the moment quite overwhelmed us, my poor Kondje-Gul
began to tremble again with fear after the departure of her mother, whom
we knew to be capable of any mad act. We decided that, in order to avoid
a very real danger, we would take her that very day to the convent of
the Ladies of X.; this we did. Before she becomes my wife she is going
to become a Christian, in pursuance of the wish which, as you know, she
has expressed a long time since, of embracing my faith. This visit,
which will account to the world for her disappearance, will be explained
quite naturally by this _finale_ of our marriage; and if people ever
discover anything about this queer story of our amours, well--I shall
have married my own slave, that's all.

Eh? What? You incorrigible carper! Is it not, after all, a charming
romance?

A fortnight has passed since the intervention of the commissary. Kiusko
has gone: he disappeared one morning. My aunt Eudoxia, who has taken us
under her special care, goes to see Kondje-Gul every day at the convent.
She is charming in her kindness to us, but still we have our anxieties.
The negotiation of the maternal consent is an arduous task, for the
Circassian makes absurd pretensions; my uncle, however, undertakes to
bring her down.

What will you say next, I wonder? That I am reduced to buying my own
wife? I flatter myself that I shall find happiness in that bargain! How
many others are there, who have done the same, that could say as much as
that?

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XIX.

Here's a fine business! It is my uncle who has got into trouble this
time! My aunt Eudoxia has found out everything, and I have just spent
two days in helping my aunt Van Cloth to pack up and get back to Holland
with my long string of cousins, the fat Dirkie, the cooking moulds, and
the barrel-organ following by goods' train.

It was a veritable thunderclap!

I have told you all about this Dutch household and its patriarchal
felicity, its sweetmeat and sausage pastries, and its inimitable
tarts--less appetizing, however, than my aunt's fine eyes. I have