led at this reflection, I was seized with a dreadful
pang of conscience. What could they suppose? Good heavens! Ought I to
wait till the next day to dissipate their doubts, and justify myself for
such strange coldness--coldness which may have seemed like
indifference? I had no sooner conceived this thought than my desire
concentrated itself upon one object, to see Kondje-Gul again.

I knew all the domestic arrangements of El Nouzha. In the centre of the
edifice is a vast circular hall, to which the daylight is admitted by a
cupola of ground glass, supported by pillars of white marble. Lamps
hanging between the pillars give out a mysterious light. Once arrived
there, I listened. All was silent. I found Kondje-Gul's chamber, and
went close up to it. I listened again, with my ear to the door. An
indistinct rustling which I heard, apprized me that she was not yet in
bed. With key in hand, I still hesitated before opening. At last I made
up my mind.

Picture to yourself a sweetly perfumed room, both rich and coquettish in
its arrangements, lined with Indian silk hangings of gay colours, and
illumined by the soft light of a small chandelier of three branches. In
front of a large glass Kondje-Gul was seated, her long hair reaching
down to the floor. With her bare arms uplifted, and her head turned
backwards, she held in her hand a golden comb. Seeing me, she uttered a
little cry, got up with a bound, and blushing all the while, and fixing
upon me her great frightened eyes, she rested motionless and almost in a
tremble. Her agitation communicated itself to me.

"Did I frighten you?" I commenced, trying to speak with a firm voice;
"and will you pardon me for coming in like this?"

She did not answer a word, but lowered her eyes, a smile glanced
furtively over her lips, and then, with her hand on her bosom, she bowed
to me.

"Kondje-Gul! Dear Kondje-Gul!" I exclaimed, touched to the depths of my
soul by this act of submission.

And springing towards her, I took her in my arms to chase away her
fears; I kissed her brow, which she offered to me, pressing her face
against my bosom, with a lovely bashful look of alarm.

"You have come, then!" she whispered.

"Did you imagine I did not love you?" said I, as truly affected as she
was.

At this question she raised her head with an inexpressible languor and
smiled again, looking into my eyes, and so close that our lips met.

Louis, is it true that the ideal embraces the infin