You know, my dear Louis, that whenever I have formed any plan, whether a reckless one or even a wise one, I go straight at it with the stubbornness of a mule. This, perhaps, explains many of my follies. According to my view (as a believer in free-will), man is himself a will or independent power served by his organs; he is a kind of manifestation of the spirit of nature created to control matter. Any man who abdicates his rights, or gives way before obstacles, abandons his mission and returns to the rank of the beasts. His is a lost power, which has evaporated into space. Such is my opinion.

This highly philosophical prelude was necessary, as you will see, in order to fix my principles before proceeding any further; and, above all, in order to defend myself beforehand against any rash accusation of fickleness in my plans. Science has mysterious paths, along which we feel our way, without seeing clearly our destination. The consequence of which is that, just when we fancy that we have reached the end, new and immense horizons open out before us.

But I am getting tired of my metaphor.

It all amounts to this that having the honour of being my uncle’s nephew, nothing happens to me in the same way as to other mortals, and that consequently all the careful arrangements that I made in regard to Kondje-Gul have eventuated in a manner completely opposed to my express intentions. But although my objective has been considerably enlarged, it remains substantially the same, as I think you will remark.

Kondje-Gul and her mother are now settled down in Count Teral’s house; and it is hardly necessary for me to describe to you the joy which she felt at the termination of her educational seclusion. The first few days after her return were days of frenzied delight, and we spent them almost entirely together. Her metamorphosis was now so complete, that I felt as if I were witnessing one of the fabulous Indian avatars, and that another soul had taken up its dwelling in this divinely beautiful body of hers. I could not tire of watching her as she walked, and listening to her as she spoke. In her Oriental costume, which she occasionally resumes, in order to please me, the American girl’s ways, which she has picked up from Suzannah and Maud, produce a most remarkable effect. And with all this was mingled that exquisitely blended aroma of youth, beauty, and dignity, which permeated her and surrounded her like the sweet perfume of some strange Oriental blossom!

We have settled our plan of life. Knowing the whole truth, as she does now, about our social habits, she understands the necessity of veiling our happiness under the most profound mystery. Confiding in the sanctity of a tie which her religion legitimizes, she is aware that we must conceal it from the eyes of the world, like any secret marriage. Besides, what advantage would there be in lifting the veil of mystery, and taking the poetry out of this romantic union thus reducing it to the vulgar level of an ordinary intrigue? If I were to treat my Kondje like a common mistress, would not that be degrading her?

When I tried to console her for the dulness which this constraint must cause her, she exclaimed, with vehemence

“Be so good as not to calumniate my woman’s heart! What do I care for your country, and its laws, so long as you love me? I don’t care to know either your society, or its customs, or its conventionalities. I belong to you, and I love you; that is all I see, all I feel. I am neither your wife, nor your mistress. From the depths of my soul I feel that I am more than either. I am your slave, and I wish to preserve my bonds. Command me, do what you like with me; and when you love me no longer, kill me, that’s all!”

“Yes, dear!” I replied, laughing at her rhapsodies, “I will sew you up in a sack, and go and throw you in the Bosphorus some evening!”

She received this remark with a peal of childish laughter.

“Goodness me!” she said, in her confusion; “why, I was quite forgetting that I am civilised!”

Count Teral’s house has been quite a find for us; it seems just as if it had been built expressly for Kondje-Gul and her mother. On the ground-floor, approached by a short flight of eight steps, is a drawing-room, which opens into a sort of hall, resembling an artist’s studio. The latter serves as picture-gallery, library, and concert-room. Above the wainscoting the eye is relieved by silk hangings, of a large grey-striped pattern on white ground, in contrast with which is the rich garnet of a velvet-covered suite of furniture. There are some curious old cabinets in carved ebony, set out with statuettes, vases, flowers, and nick-nacks. The general effect is lively, enchanting, and luxurious; in fact, just what the home of a young lady of patrician birth, who confines herself to a small circle of friends, should be. On the first floor are the private apartments, and on the second the servants’ rooms. The establishment is maintained on the elegant, yet simple scale, which seems proper for members of good society; they keep three horses, and a neat brougham: nothing more. Their luxuries, in short, are all in the well-considered style suitable for a rich foreign lady and her daughter, who mix in Parisian society with the reserve and delicate taste of two women anxious to avoid attracting too much attention.

Kondje-Gul’s private life is contrived, as well as everything else, to preserve her against solitude or dulness. She is completing her “civilisation” with industrious zeal. Every morning, from eight o’clock to twelve, is devoted to work; governesses from Madame Montier’s come to continue her course of lessons; then from one to two she practises on the piano. Her curious mind, with its mixture of ardent imagination and youthful intelligence, is really producing a wonderful intellectual structure upon its original foundation of native belief and superstitions. I am often quite surprised by hearing her display, on the subject of our social contradictions, an amount of observation and a grasp of view which would do credit to a philosopher.

After two o’clock she dresses, and takes a walk or a ride, or makes calls with her friends, the Montague girls; for in spite of all my excellent intentions, their intimacy has only increased since they were all emancipated from the restraints of school life. Kondje-Gul being now under her mother’s protection, the most regular position she could have in the world, it would have been difficult indeed to find a pretext for breaking it off. Moreover, I had come to the conclusion that, owing to my having been introduced to the commodore’s family by my uncle, there could be no danger in these encounters with Kondje-Gul at their house. It was by Maud and Suzannah that I had been presented to their fair foreign companion, and who would suspect it was not at Madame de Villeneuve’s party that I had first spoken to her? Consequently, if any unforeseen circumstance should some day betray our secret, I could at least rest assured that Commodore Montague would never think of accusing me of anything more than a romantic adventure, resulting by a natural train of circumstances from that introduction.

Nothing, as you perceive, could be more correct from the worldly point of view. I am well aware that as a rigid moralist you would not neglect the opportunity, if I gave it you, of lecturing me upon the rashness of my course. Well, for my part, I maintain that our respect for the proprieties consists chiefly in our respect for ourselves. Chance, which led us into the society of the foreign colony, together with Kondje-Gul’s charming manner, have naturally created for her a number of pleasant acquaintances, which I should never perhaps have aimed at obtaining for her. All that was needed to secure her this advantage was that we should both pay to the world this tribute of mystery to which it is entitled. Our society is so mixed that I do not think you would have been scandalised if you had met Kondje-Gul at the ball at the British Embassy, where she went the other night with her mother, and Commodore Montague. The admiration which she excited as she passed must certainly have disarmed your objections.

Being always about with the Montague girls, Kondje-Gul soon got invited with them to the balls to which the commodore took his daughters. Having been admitted to two or three aristocratic drawing-rooms, such as that of Princess B and Marchioness d’A , she obtained the entry to all the others. With your knowledge of the infatuations of our fashionable world, you can imagine the extravagant style of admiring gossip with which such a beautiful rising star is greeted wherever she goes. I should add that the young sinner understands it all very well, and is very much flattered by it.

The mystery which surrounds her increases the peculiarity of our situation. Being always chaperoned by her mother, whose foreign type of features creates an imposing impression, Kondje-Gul is taken for one of those young ladies who are models of filial respect. The style of their house and of their dress, and that refined elegance which stamps them as ladies of distinction, designate them no less indisputably the possessors of a large fortune and of high rank. All this, you will perceive, formed a crowning justification for the success which Kondje-Gul’s remarkable beauty had of itself sufficed to achieve for her. Then of course the fashionable reporters of the official receptions fulfilled their duty by heralding the advent of this brilliant star. They only made the mistake one of those mistakes so common with journalists of describing her as a Georgian.

Confident in the security of our mystery, Kondje-Gul and I find nothing more delightful than the manoeuvres by which we deceive them all. We have invented a code of signs, the meaning of which we keep to ourselves, and which leads to some very amusing by-play between us.

Thus the other evening, at Madame de T ’s, she was sitting by Maud and Suzannah, surrounded by a number of admirers, when the young Duke de Marandal, one of the most ardent of my acknowledged rivals, was lavishing upon her his most seductive attentions. Kondje was listening to him with a charming smile on her face. Now that evening, I must tell you, she had resolved upon a bit of fun; and knowing that in France unmarried girls are not supposed to wear jewellery, she had fastened on her wrist a heavy gold bracelet as a token of her servitude. So while the young duke was talking, she looked at me, playing carelessly the while with what she calls her “slave’s ring.” You may guess how we laughed together over it.