KÉRABAN THE INFLEXIBLE.
CHAPTER I.
HOW VAN MITTEN AND HIS VALET WALKED AND TALKED.
At six o'clock on the evening of the 16th of August, in a certain year which need not be particularly specified, the quay of Top-Hané in Constantinople, usually so crowded and full of life and bustle, was silent—almost deserted. The view from this place over the Bosphorus was certainly a very charming one, but life was wanting to give it its full effect. Very few strangers were visible at that time, and they were hurrying on their way to Pera. The narrow, dirty, and dog-infested streets which led to what may be termed the "European" quarters, were almost free from the presence of the representatives of Western civilization. Pera is more especially affected as a residence by the Franks, whose white stone mansions contrast vividly with the dark cypress groves upon the hill.
But the quay is always picturesque, even when deprived of the rainbow hues of the various costumes worn by the passers-by. The Mosque of Mahmoud, with its graceful minarets, its pretty Arabic fountain (now deprived of its elegant roof), its shops where sweetmeats of all kinds are vended; the stalls piled with gourds, Smyrna melons, Scutari raisins, contrasting with the wares of the vendors of perfumery, and the bead sellers; the landing-place, or port, where lie hundreds of gaudy carques, double banked, the oars of which caressed rather than struck the blue waters of the Bosphorus or the Golden Horn.
But there were at that particular time many of the habitual loungers of the Top-Hané—Persians, coquettishly crowned with head-gear of Astrachan; Greeks, balancing
