et from the ground, the roofs so low that one could almost touch them
with a stick, and the walls very white. The street turns; I look, see no
one, and hear neither step nor voice. I say to myself:--"This must be an
abandoned street!" and try another one, in which the houses are white,
the windows closed, and there is nothing but silence and solitude around
me. "Why, where am I?" I ask myself. I go on; the street, which is so
narrow that a carriage could not pass, begins to wind; on the right and
left I see other deserted streets, white houses, and closed windows. My
step resounds as if in a corridor. The whiteness of the walls is so
vivid that even the reflection is trying, and I am obliged to walk with
my eyes half closed, for it really seems as if I were making my way
through the snow. I reach a small square; everything is closed, and no
one is to be seen. At this point a vague feeling of melancholy seizes
me, such as I have never experienced before; a mixture of pleasure and
sadness, similar to that which comes to children when, after a long run,
they reach a lonely rural spot and rejoice in their discovery, but with
a certain trepidation lest they should be too far from home. Above many
roofs rise the palm-trees of inner gardens. Oh, fantastic legends of
Odalisk and Caliph! On I go from street to street, and square to square;
I begin to meet some people, but they pass and disappear like phantoms.
All the streets resemble each other; the houses have only three or four
windows; and not a spot, scrawl, or crack is to be seen on the walls,
which are as smooth and white as a sheet of paper. From time to time I
hear a whisper behind a blind, and see, almost at the same moment, a
dark head, with a flower in the hair, appear and disappear. I look in at
a door....

A _patio!_ How shall I describe a _patio?_ It is not a court, nor a
garden, nor a room; but it is all three things combined. Between the
patio and the street there is a vestibule. On the four sides of the
patio rise slender columns, which support, up to a level with the first
floor, a species of gallery inclosed in glass; above the gallery is
stretched a canvas, which shades the court. The vestibule is paved with
marble, the door flanked by columns, surmounted by bas-reliefs, and
closed by a slender iron gate of graceful design. At the end of the
patio there is a fountain; and all around are scattered chairs,
work-tables, pictures, and vases of flowers. I run to a