bound for the Golden Horn. On the voyage
out, a little stroke of business was done, and
a concert for the officers of the ship was
proposed, which went off successfully enough. A
small offering, in proportion to each one's
means, Piquette said, would not be
unacceptable.

Once in the Golden Horn, Piquette sought
an interview with the representative of
France, and delivered his letter.

"You must wait," said the representative,
grinding his teeth. "Milord de Cunning is up
at this moment: we are down. But courage!
You must wait our term: it will soon come."

Poor Piquette and wife had to wait,
therefore.  Waited for a week first: then for
another week: then a third— then a fourth:
until their hearts were thoroughly sickened
with this hope deferred— until their poor
bodies went nigh to being famished.

One day, however, Milord slipped down,
and our French envoy rose in proportion.
The ministry were tumbled out headlong:
the French end of the see-saw was in the air.
But such was diplomatic exultation at this
victory, that it drove all thoughts of Piquette
out of the envoy's head, That wretched man
called daily at his hotel, frantically demanding
speech of the dread authority. At last
he got in.

"Pah!" he said, impatiently, "how can I
attend to such trifles now!  You want to
grind an organ before the Sultan, or some
such thing. You must wait!"

"But we shall starve; we shall die in
waiting," Piquette said, desperately.

The great man looked up from his papers
for the first time, and saw the worn, pinched
face of Piquette. His heart was not all of
Protocols or Despatches, and so he had pity.
"I will try what I can do for you," he said:
"leave me now."

Piquette departed, filled with joy, and flew
to his faithful singing wife with the news.
"It is accomplished,"  he said.

But they had to wait, for all that. It was
rumoured that Said Pacha, ex Vizier, was
at Milord's hotel night and day: nay, had
all but effected coalition with Achmet Bey,
who had hitherto held himself tolerably
neutral. It was a terrible crisis; but our
diplomatist was not unequal to it. Achmet
was bought—at heavy cost, doubtless; but
still he was bought. That was one-half the
battle. Two interviews with the Sultan
crunched Milord's influence to powder. It
would take him months of conspiring to
recover that ground. The victory was
secure; and as our Frenchman departed,
making his last salaam to the descendant
of the Prophet, he bethought him of the
poor singers, and threw in a word for them.
Graicouch, the Commander of the Faithful,
bowed his fezzed head. He would hear the
infidel strollers on the next night. Moreover,
he was somewhat enuuyed, and was a little
inclined to amusement,

"Mashallah! " he said to the prime
eunuch, "what will the giaours be like?  Did
the Frank say she was a houri?  God is
great!  I will buy her!"

Some saltimbauques, or jugglers, had lately
given their entertainment before his majesty,
and much diverted him; so he rather
hungered after such diversion.

The terrible night arrived: for it had been
a terrible thought to the pair from the moment
the news reached them. In simplest
white had madame attired herself, with
trepidation,—such trepidation!

"I shall never get through it, mon ami!"
she said, hysterically. "I shall sleep to-night
in the sack of the Bosphorus!"

Piquette heard her, but he heeded not:
his thoughts were far away. "He will make
me a pasha. I shall be Hakeim Effendi!
Suleima Bey would sound handsomely!"
And here he surprised himself, stroking an
imaginary beard.

It was in an inner room of the palace,
lighted beautifully with a flood of waxen
lights, that the Commander of the Faithful
was seated. Around were his faithful pashas,
his vizier, his head eunuch, his favourite
shaving-man, through all time reputed to
have the greatest influence of all who attend
on the Servant of the Prophet. At a little
window hung a gauze curtain, behind which
might have been made out indistinct outlines
those, perhaps, of Fatima; perhaps
of Zuleika; perhaps of the Sultana herself
(who shall tell?), reported to be a miracle
of beauty, and come to hearken to the giaour's
minstrelsy. It was altogether an imposing
sight; and besides, the confidential barber
had whispered it about, that His Highness
was in the most delighted spirits.

Our poor singers were all this while
confined in a lonely, ill-lighted, dismal,
backroom, which seems usually to be the sort
of resting-place assigned to such as are
bidden to sing before the royalties of
this earth. There, with fluttering, trembling
hearts, they waited until they should be
wanted.

A haughty Moslem was standing at the
door, in the full costume of his country. He
scowled; and motioned them to follow him,
knd they obeyed. The fatal hour was indeed
come. They were before the Commander of the
Faithful. He was on a pile of cushions, and
his pipe had just been lighted.

"Courage!"  whispers Piquette to his wife,
whom he is dragging along.

"His Highness wishes the entertainment
to commence," said the interpreter.

Piquette started, and looked about
irresolutely. He missed a four-footed assistant,
indispensable to the success of the
entertainment.  "The piano,"  he murmured.

"What does the infidel require? " asked
the Vizier, sharply.

"He seems to want what is called a piano,"
the dragoman answered.