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"Yes, and you no doubt wanted him to deliver it," I retorted in an ironical strain.

This last bitter dart went home and set her beside herself. She assumed a superb attitude.

"I shall not give you any explanation," she said. "Believe whatever you please. Do whatever you choose. As for myself, I know what I have to do now. Since I am spied upon and treated in this fashion I have had enough of leading such a life—I prefer to put an end to it at once!"

"And how do you purpose putting an end to it—" I resumed. "It will perhaps be necessary to consult me a little bit on that subject."

"But you are neither my husband nor my brother, my dear fellow," she exclaimed in the most airy way imaginable, "and I don't suppose that you are going to talk to me any more of those stupid Turkish rights. We are in Paris and I know that I am free!"

"Well, where will your freedom take you—"

"Oh! don't worry yourself about me—I should not have any trouble to secure a husband. Do you imagine, my dear fellow, that I should be embarrassed to find a position—"

This characteristic word showed me that she was far more completely initiated than I had suspected.

"And you expect," I retorted, "to obtain this position from that fine nobleman, eh—"

These disdainful words exasperated her; she lost all self-restraint and burnt her ships.

"That fine nobleman is a duke!" she exclaimed vehemently. "I will not allow you to insult him. And since you dare to threaten me, I will tell you that I love him and that he adores me, and that he offers to marry me and promises me every bliss—"

In spite of my misfortune I could not help laughing at this fiery indignant declaration to which Zouhra's Turkish accent imparted an irresistibly comic effect. My gaiety brought her anger to a climax.

Frenzied, decided upon everything, she darted to a chiffonier, drew out an illuminated card, upon which two doves were pecking one another, and threw it at me with a queenly air, exclaiming:

"There, my dear fellow you will see if I still have any need of you!"

I picked up the card and read what was written upon it:

LEDUC (D'ARPAJON),

Drum-Major of the 79th Regt. of the Line.

To the divine ZOUHRA—Everlasting Love!

It would be useless for me to describe to you the end of the scene.

When I had laughed enough, I allowed myself the delightful pleasure of undeceiving my faithless houri by explaining to her her unfortunate mistake as to the rank of her conqueror, whom she had mentally endowed with a fortune in keeping with the height of his plume.[1] I destroyed her dream of every bliss by reducing it to so much bliss as was procurable with a full pay of a franc and a half per diem.

[1]Zouhra with her imperfect knowledge of French had concluded that Leduc (D'Arpajon) meant "the Duke of Arpajon"—whereas, in reality, Leduc, a single word, was the drum-major's name; D'Arpajon implying that he came from, or belonged to, the little market town of Arpajon, not far from Paris.—Trans.

As I made these crushing revelations you might have seen her gradually sinking and collapsing, with her pretty purple lips just parted, and her gazelle's eyes staring with frightened astonishment. She was the picture of consternation.

All at once she darted towards me and abruptly caught me in her arms.

"Ah! it is you that I love!—you that I love!" she exclaimed in a pathetic tone amid her transports.

I had some difficulty in releasing myself from her passionate embrace; still I eventually succeeded in doing so, but only to confront a fresh crisis of despair, whereupon I immediately confided Zouhra to the care of her maids.

Then, without any further explanations, which would have been superfluous, I withdrew.

Of course I am perfectly aware that you will try to derive from this mishap some argument intended to triumph over my discomfiture.

I would have you remark, however, that you have no right to seize upon a general fact—for infidelity is inherent in woman's nature—and draw deductions respecting my particular case. All that you can reasonably conclude is that the man who has four wives is bound to be deceived four times as often as the man who has but one wife.

That is certainly a weighty argument, I confess.

However all that may be, my misfortune having been made evident to me, and Zouhra being banished from my heart, it was necessary that I should come to a decision with regard to her.

The most simple course was to consult my uncle; his own experience in a similar mishap pointed him out as the best of advisers.

He listened to me, stroking his beard with the somewhat derisive phlegm of a practical man, who is not sorry to find that he has some companions in misfortune. It even seemed to me that I could detect a touch of malicious satisfaction, as if he still resented my conduct as an heir.

When I had finished he quietly remarked:

"What an old stupid you are! You should have let her get married without saying anything! In that way you would have saved us the expense of sending her back home again."

"Well, unfortunately it's too late now for that, uncle," I answered.

To be brief, as the Turkish law does not allow the desertion or dismissal of a cadine unless she be provided for, Zouhra is to be exiled to Rhodes. The pasha has established there for his own use, a kind of Botany Bay, which is a place both of retirement and rustication for his invalided wives who have lost their freshness with age. The place is an old abbey with spacious gardens planted with mimosas and orange trees, and was purchased by auction for some ten thousand francs. The island is delightful, and provisions are to be had there for nothing, according to what my uncle tells me. Judge for yourself: fowls cost twopence each, and everything else is to be had at correspondingly low prices. There are already eleven women there, and it does not cost more than nine thousand francs a year to keep them all on a proper footing, including the board and wages of their servants.

Find me among our own boasted institutions any one to be compared with that of my uncle—an institution established to provide for similar contingencies, and the arrangements of which are equally good.

CHAPTER XV.

For the last three days that unworthy girl Zouhra has been on her way to Rhodes.

Well, what does that matter— I admit that I have only three wives left, that's all. And what of that— Is it fitting that you, my dearest friend, should try to make me feel ashamed of it—

While exercising your facetiousness, it seems to me that you especially level your irony at certain other worries necessarily occasioned by the position of Kondjé-Gul and what you call the wooing of the "fierce Kiusko." Ye Gods! so I have a rival. Really, you make me laugh!

I fancy, however, that all this will inevitably end in a duel between us, which indeed, as time goes on, seems to me quite unavoidable.

One evening when I arrived rather late at Téral House by reason of one of those tedious dinners with which Anna Campbell's leaves-out were celebrated, I found Kondjé-Gul quite downcast, and her eyes red with crying. I had left her a few hours before in the best of spirits, and delighted about a pretty little pony which I had given her in the morning, and which we had been trying. Surprised and alarmed at such a sudden grief as she evinced, and which had caused her to shed tears, I anxiously questioned her about it.

Directly I began speaking to her I saw that she wanted to conceal from me the cause of her affliction: but I pressed her.

"No, it's nothing," she said, "only a story which mamma told me."

But when she tried to smile, a sob broke out from her lips, and, bursting into tears, she threw her arm round my neck, nestling her head on my bosom.

"Good heavens! what's the matter, dear—" I exclaimed, quite alarmed. "Tell me all about it, I entreat you. What has happened— And why are you crying like this—"

She could not answer me. Her bosom heaved, and she seized my hand and covered it with kisses, as if in order to demonstrate her love for me in the midst of her distress.

I succeeded in calming her; and then, making her sit down by my side, with her hands in mine, I pressed her to confess her troubles to me. Her hesitation increased my alarm: she turned her eyes away from me, and I could see that she feared to reply to me. At last, quite frantic with anxiety, I resorted to my marital authority.

Then, with childlike submission, she related to me the following strange story, which filled me with astonishment.

After luncheon her mother had joined her in the drawing-room, when in the course of a general conversation she began to speak about their native country and their family, and about the pleasure it would be for them to revisit them after so long an absence. Kondjé-Gul let her go on in this strain, thinking that she was just indulging in one of those dreams of a far-off future which the imagination is fond of cherishing, however impossible their realisation may be. But soon she was very much surprised by noticing that her mother was discussing this scheme as one which might be carried out at an early date. She then questioned her about it. At last, after a lot of fencing, Madame Murrah informed her that she had learnt a marriage was arranged between me and Anna Campbell, who had been betrothed to me for a long while past; also that this marriage would take place in six months' time, and that I should have to go away with my wife the day after the wedding.

The end of all these arrangements would be the abandonment of Kondjé-Gul.

I was dismayed by this unexpected revelation. The plan of my marriage with Anna had remained a family secret, known only to my uncle, to herself, to my aunt, and to me. How had it got to Madame Murrah's ears— I was unable to conceal my uneasiness.

"But this marriage is true then—" continued my poor Kondjé with an anxious look in my face.

"Nothing is true but our love!" I replied, distressed by her fears; "nothing is true but this, that I mean to love you always, and always to live with you as I do now."

"But this marriage—" she again repeated.

It was impossible for me to escape any longer from the necessity of making a confession which I had intended to have prepared her for later on.

"Listen, my darling," I said, taking her by the hands, "and above all things trust me as you listen to me! I love you, I love no one but you; you are my wife, my happiness, my life. Do you believe me—"

"Yes, dear, I believe you. But what about her—" she added in a tremble. "What about Anna Campbell— Are you going to marry her—"

"Come," I said, wishing to begin by soothing her fears; "if, as so often happens in your own country, I were obliged, if only in order to assure our own happiness, to make another marriage, would not you understand that this was only a sacrifice which I owed to my uncle if he required it of me—a family arrangement, in fact, which could not separate us from each other— What have you to fear so long as I only love you— Did you trouble yourself about Hadidjé or Zouhra—"

"Oh, but they were not Christians! Anna Campbell would be your real wife; and your religion and laws would enjoin you to love her."

"No," I exclaimed, "neither my religion nor my laws could change my heart or undo my love for you. It is my duty to protect your life and make it a happy one; for are not you also my wife— Why should you alarm yourself about an obligation of mine which, if we lived in your country, would not disturb your confidence in me— Anna Campbell is not really in love with me: we are only like two friends, prepared to unite with each other in a conventional union, such as you may see many a couple around us enter upon—an association of fortunes, in which the only personal sentiments demanded are reciprocal esteem. My dear girl, what is there to be jealous of— Don't you know that you will always be everything to me—"

Poor Kondjé-Gul listened to these somewhat strange projects without the least idea of opposing them. Still under the yoke of her native ideas, those Oriental prejudices in which she had been brought up were too deeply grafted in her mind to permit of her being rapidly converted by acquaintance with our sentiments and usages—very illogical as they often appeared to her mind—to a different view of woman's destiny. According to her laws and her religion, I was her master. She could never have entertained the possibility of her refusing to submit to my will; but I could see by the tears in her eyes that this very touching submission and resignation on her part was simply due to her devoted self-control, and that she suffered cruelly by it.

"Come, why do you keep on crying—" I continued, drawing her into my arms. "Do you doubt my love, dear—"

"Oh, no!" she replied quickly. "How could I mistrust you—"

"Well, then, away with those tears!"

"Yes," she said, giving me a kiss, "you are right, dear: I am very silly! What can you expect of me— I am still half a barbarian, and am rather bewildered with all I have learnt from you. There are still some things in my nature which I can't understand. Why it is that I feel more jealous of Anna Campbell than I was of Hadidjé, of Nazli, or of Zouhra, I can't tell you; but I am afraid—she is a Christian, and perhaps you will love her better than me. I feel that the laws and customs of your country will recover their hold over you and will separate us. That odious law which you once told me of, which would enfranchise me, so you said, and make me my own mistress if I desired to leave you, often comes back to my mind like a bad dream. It seems to me that this imaginary liberty, which I don't want at any price, would become a reality if you get married."

I reassured her on this point. There is a much more persuasive eloquence in the heart than in the vain deductions of logic. During this extraordinary scene, in which my poor Kondjé-Gul's mind was alarmed by the conflict going on between her own beliefs and what she knew of our society, I was quite sincere in my illusions concerning the moral compromise which, I fancied, was imposed upon me as an absolute duty. Singular as it may all appear to you, I had already been subjected too long to the influence of the harem not to have become gradually permeated by the Oriental ideas. The tie which bound me to Kondjé-Gul had acquired a kind of sacred and legitimate character in my eyes.

However this may have been, her revelation disclosed an impending danger. It was clear to me that the news of the marriage arranged between Anna Campbell and myself could only have reached Madame Murrah through Kiusko. His relationship with my aunt had made him a member of our family, and he had been acquainted with our projects. I could easily understand that his jealous instincts had penetrated one side of the secret between Kondjé and myself. He had at least guessed that she loved me, and that I was an obstacle to the attainment of his desires. He was following up his object. He wished to destroy Kondjé-Gul's hopes in advance, by showing her that I was engaged to marry another.