"You ungrateful wretch!" she continued with a laugh: "that's the way you
observe my memory, is it?"
She did not press the subject. You may guess what a relief that was to
me.
After we had strolled about the grounds for an hour, my aunt Eudoxia had
made a complete conquest of me. But although everything about her
excited my curiosity, I had put very few questions to her, not wishing
from motives of delicacy to appear entirely ignorant of her history;
such ignorance, indeed, would have appeared strange in a nephew. She
seemed quite disposed, however, to answer all my questions without any
fencing, and to treat me as an intimate friend. What I felt most
surprised at was the attitude of my uncle, who had never said any more
to me about her than about my aunt Cora of Les Grands Palmiers. There
reigned betwixt them the affectionate manners of the happiest possible
couple; they discussed the past, and I could see that their union had
never been weakened or affected, notwithstanding my uncle's Mahometan
proceedings, which she really appears never to have suspected. I
discovered that she had accompanied him on board his ship, during
several of his voyages, and that two years back he had stayed six months
with her at Corfu. As for him, he talked in such a completely innocent
manner, betokening such a pure conscience, that I came to the conclusion
he was probably on just as good a footing with all his other spouses,
and that he would not have been the least bit more embarrassed with my
aunt Van Cloth, had she chanced to turn up.
When we returned to the château, my aunt asked me to have some letters
posted for her. I went to her room to take them from her; she had found
time to write half-a-dozen for all parts of the world. While she was
sealing them, I had a look at the numerous articles with which she had
filled and garnished her boudoir. There were on the table flowers in
vases, books and albums; on the mantelpiece, several portraits arranged
on little gilt easels, among which was a splendid miniature of a young,
handsome man, in Turkish costume embroidered with gold, and having on
his head a fez ornamented with an egret of precious stones.
"Do you recognise this gentleman," said my aunt, as I was stooping to
look at it more closely.
"What!" I exclaimed; "Can that be my uncle?"
"The very man, dressed up as a great mamamouchi. It is a great
curiosity, for you are aware of his Turkish notions on the subject.
According to these, one ought not to have one's image made."