"He had accomplished his commission, I suppose," continued he.
"Yes," I replied. "And as you were dead, and Mohammed's commission formed part of my inheritance from you, I thought that it was my duty—"
"Bigre!" said my uncle, "you know how to act the heir very well, you do!"
"Why indeed—" I continued, "remember that I could not suppose——"
"In short you've done it," said he, "and it's all over, so don't let us say anything more about it! And once more, forgive me.—Now that I know all about it, nothing more need be said. Turks never discuss harem matters. Only," he added, "in order to avoid the necessity of returning to the subject, let me now recommend you to keep Mohammed; you understand? He knows the run of the ropes. And in order to make everything safe, as it would not do for me to be seen about there any more, tell him to come and see me."
"Do you wish me to send for him at once?"
"No, no, to-morrow will do. We have plenty of time.—Come, give me a little music, will you? Play me something from Verdi—"
And he began to hum in his bass voice, slightly out of tune, snatches from the air:
"Parigi o cara, noi lasceremo."
We passed a charming evening together, what with conversation, music, and cards. He won three francs of me at piquet, with a ridiculous display of triumph. About twelve o'clock I took him to his bedroom. When he was ready to get into bed, he exclaimed: