"But I return to Egypt, to the Nile, to this dahabiyah, on board of
which it has pleased the fates to dispose my existence for the
present. I am not called a companion, but a lady in waiting, which
would be only another term for the same thing, if I were not really
very much attached to the Princess, old and deaf as she is. And
that is saying a great deal. No one knows what deafness means who
has not read aloud to a deaf person, which is what I do every day.
I do not think I ever told you about her. I have known her all my
life, ever since I was a little girl in the convent in Vienna. She
used to come and see me and bring me good things--and books of
prayers--I remember especially a box of candied fruits which she
told me came from Kiew. I have never eaten any like them since. I
wonder how many sincere affections between young and old people owe
their existence originally to a confectioner!

"When I left Rome, I met her again in Nice. She was there with the
Prince, who was in wretched health and who died soon afterwards. He
never was so fond of me as she was. After his death, she asked me
to stay with her as long as I would. I do not think I shall leave
her again so long as she lives. She treats me like her own
child--or rather, her grandchild--and besides, the life suits me
very well. I am, really, perfectly independent, and yet I am
perfectly protected. I shall not repeat the experiment of living
alone for three years, until I am much older.

"It is a rather strange friendship. My Princess knows all about
me--all that you know. I told her one day and she did not seem at
all surprised. I thought I owed her the truth about myself, since I
was to live with her, and since she had always been so kind to me.
She says I remind her of her daughter, the poor young Princess
Marie, who died nearly thirty years ago. In Nice, too, like her
father, poor girl. She was only just nineteen, and very beautiful
they say. I suppose the dear good old lady fancies she sees some
resemblance even now, though I am so much older than her daughter
was when she died. There is the origin of our friendship--the
trivial and the tragic--confectionery and death--a box of candied
fruits and an irreparable loss! If there were no contrasts what
would the world be? All one or the