It is all over. I have left the island.
Yesterday morning Du Pluvier came to breakfast with me.
He seemed singularly preoccupied.
"My friend," said he, "you live here the life of a veritable pasha,—a sybarite, a true odalisk. On my word of honour, it is charming; neither I nor the princess can understand it."
"How so?"
"Parbleu! She and the prince make wild suppositions as to the reasons which prompted you to lead such a life. The princess particularly seems puzzled; but as I know nothing, I can tell her nothing."
"My dear Du Pluvier, tell me, have you seen much of M. and Madame de Fersen during your sojourn in Constantinople?"
"Very often, nearly every day; the Russian embassy was one of the most agreeable houses of the Christian quarter. Little comedies were given there twice a week, and my duties prevented my skipping a single rehearsal."
"Your duties?"
"Yes, I was under-prompter,—our first secretary was naturally prompter-in-chief."