o her there, and on his return he had the palace they now
occupy built in the midst of the palm grove."

By this time the fishermen had completed their preparations and,
leaping into their boats, they started on their expedition.

The palace in the palm grove to which old Alexis had alluded was,
indeed, a magnificent dwelling, suitable in every respect for the
residence of an oriental monarch. It was built in the Turkish fashion
and its exterior was singularly beautiful and imposing. Huge palm trees
surrounded it; they were planted in regular rows upon a vast lawn that
was adorned with costly statues and fountains, while at intervals were
scattered great flower beds filled with choice exotics and blooming
plants of endless variety. A wide graveled walk and carriage-road led to
the palace, the main entrance to which was flanked on either side by
columns of dark-veined marble. The edifice itself was of green stone,
and sparkled in the sunlight like a colossal emerald. It was surmounted
by three zinc-covered domes, above each of which towered a gilded
crescent.

Within all was elegance and luxury. There were immense salons, with
marble floors, and walls covered with Smyrna hangings of the most
beautiful description that of themselves must have cost a fortune. These
salons were furnished with rich divans, tables of malachite, cabinets of
ebony, and oriental rugs of the most artistic and complicated
workmanship. There were dazzling reception rooms filled with exquisite
statues and superb paintings, the works of the greatest sculptors and
artists of the east and west, of the past and the present. Figures by
Thorwaldsen, Powers and other modern celebrities of the block and chisel
stood beside antique masterpieces framed by the genius of Phidias and
his brother sculptors of old Greece and Rome, masterpieces that had been
torn from the ruins of antiquity by the hand of the untiring and
enterprising excavator. Among the paintings were fine specimens of the
skill of Albert Duerer, Murillo, Rubens, Van Dyck, Rembrandt, Sir Joshua
Reynolds and other votaries of the brush whose names are immortal. These
paintings did not hang on the walls, for they were covered with rich
tapestry from the looms of Benares and the Gobelins, but rested on
delicately fashioned easels, themselves entitled to a high, rank as
works of art. In the salons were statues by Michael Angelo, Pierre Puget
and Pompeo Marchesi, and paintings by Claude Lorraine, Ti