was boldly informed that it had fallen to Osman Noury. "Madame Noury must cook him," cried the colonel, with a laugh that struck one as rather suspicious. The colonel supplied champagne; Mme. Noury superintended the hare and the pilaw; Boghetti brought some fruit; Oeillet was responsible for the cigarettes.
When behold, to the manifest discomfort of Osman Noury, the colonel began asking awkward questions about the "where's and when's." "Be careful," I said, "the colonel is going to wire to his Government about it." When the laughter subsided, Osman Noury blushingly explained that it had cost him two Turkish pounds! I am sure neither the fact nor the confession diminished our enjoyment of the merry feast.
I have been very ill to-day, on the point of slipping out of this world altogether. Not realising the danger of close proximity to a mangal, I carried the precious warmth into my bedroom, to feast on its exquisite purple flames, which I just remember comparing to a sunset. Fortunately, my faithful maid was in the room when I lost consciousness, and I was carried out of the poisonous air.
The colonel told me afterwards that before they knew whether I should recover, he was possessed of a horrible panic that he could never persuade his Government I had died by accident. . . . Everyone will say "the Turks poisoned you and the Frenchman let them do it." Well, I am still here, and the papers have lost an excellent opportunity for lying copy. M. Louis Steeg declares: "You surely will never die!"
The Pasha has graciously lent me his car for a visit to Halidé Hanoum. It is a pretty little machine, lined with blue velvet, which hops and bumps and plunges along the roads like a kangaroo, swimming across the river for more miles of twisting acrobatics. I have always admired the carriage-drivers: before (or rather behind) M. Kemal's chauffeur I am dumb. But, apparently, the cars "don't mind"!
I was imprudent enough to dismiss my conductor
