"But, though in Turkey we are forbidden by etiquette to inquire concerning the health of our friends’ wives, it is not forbidden in the case of strangers. I hope Madame van Mitten is quite well?"
"Oh, yes, thank you. Quite well; very well indeed," replied Van Mitten, who did not appear very much at his ease. "Yes, perfectly well. But always suffering, you know. Women, as you are aware—"
"No, no; I don’t know anything about them,” interrupted Kéraban. “Women! No. Business, as much as you like. Macedonian tobacco for the cigarettes, Persian for the narghilés. My correspondents at Salonica, Erzeroum, Latakia, Bafra, Trebizond, not omitting my good friend Van Mitten of Rotterdam. For thirty years, I have exported tobacco from these places to the four corners of Europe."
"And smoked them too!" said Van Mitten.
"Yes, smoked too, like a factory chimney; and may I ask you, do you know anything better in the world?"
"Certainly not, friend Kéraban."
"I have smoked for forty years, my friend: faithful to my chiboque and my narghilé. They constitute my whole harem, and there is not a woman in the world that I value at a pipe of tompéki."
"I am quite of your opinion," replied the Dutchman.
"Now that I have got you here,” said Kéraban, "I am going to keep you. You shall not escape me. My caïque is coming to meet me and carry me across the Bosphorus. I dine at my villa at Scutari, and will carry you across."
"That is, of course, if—"
"I will carry you across," reiterated Kéraban, "do you hear? So, make up your mind; are you going to make excuses?"
"No, I accept," replied Van Mitten. "I am yours, body and soul."
"You shall see what a charming place I have got. I built it myself, under the cypress-trees, half-way up the hill of Scutari, in full view of the Bosphorus and Constantinople. Ah, your true Turk is always on the Asiatic side. Here we have Europe—yonder is Asia, and our progressionists in frock coats cannot carry their ideas so far.
