"André," she asked me the other day with a smile, "is your 'Botany' dark
or fair?"
"Fair, my dear aunt," I answered, laughing as she did.
In the midst of all this the Pasha, still emulating one of the Olympian
gods, proceeds on his course with that tranquillity of spirit which
never forsakes him. Two days ago, who should come down upon us but
Rabassu, his lieutenant, the Rabassu whom my uncle has always called his
"murderer." He has brought home "La Belle Virginie" from Zanzibar with a
cargo of cinnamon; for, as you are aware, we (or rather I) still trade
in spices. Being now the head of the firm, I have to sell off the last
consignments. Rabassu heard of the resurrection of Barbassou-Pasha
directly he arrived at Toulon. He hurried off to us quite crestfallen,
and when he met the captain literally trembled at the thought of the
hurricane he would now have to face. But everything passed off very
satisfactorily. My uncle interrupted his first mutterings of apology
with a gentle growl, and contented himself with chaffing him for his
infantine credulity.
However, this incident has revived the vexed question of the camels.
"Where are they?" asks the captain. Having promised to send them to the
Zoological Gardens at Marseilles, he feels his honour is at stake; they
must be found. I support him in this view; my inherited property is of
course incomplete without them. Urgent letters on the subject have just
been despatched to his friend Picklock, and to the officer in command at
Aden. If necessary, a claim will be lodged against England; she is
undoubtedly responsible for them.
In my next letter I will tell you all the news relating to El-Nouzha
from the time when I last interrupted this interesting part of my
narrative. My houris are making progress, and their education is
improving. We are going on swimmingly.