"My next introduction was to a literary individual, and a very good-looking fellow into the bargain.
"'Miss Poles,' he commenced, 'I hear that you have been a prisoner with the Thouaregs, and I hope you will do me the favour of recounting to me your adventures whilst in the midst of that whimsical tribe. I should like to work them up into an article for the "Revue de France.'
"'Certainly not, sir,' said I, horrified, 'certainly not. The bare idea of having every detail of my life held up to the public gaze revolts me.'
"'Pardon me, if I have been indiscreet,' was his reply. 'I thought yours was merely a case of ordinary captivity.'
"'And, I, sir, never said it was not.'
"'My dear Miss Poles,' went on this impudent little animal, 'if I had only known that—'
"'Once more, sir—'
"'Not a word. Miss Poles, not a word. I will not ask any more questions.'
"Truly, these Parisians are unbearable. Judge for yourself. The last individual presented to me was a M. de Morin, a painter. Without giving me time to put my hair straight, or arrange my dress, or strike an attitude, out came his pencils, and in I went into his album.
"The likeness is good enough, I must confess; but I detest those sketchy productions which cannot possibly give any idea of womanly attractions. Fortunately, however, M. de Morin has promised me a portrait in oils, in which he will do his best to reproduce my smile and the brightness of my eyes.