"Yes, sir!" she continued in a satisfied tone of pride, "I know that I am handsome!—Now don't laugh at me," she added with a charming reproachful look; "what I have to say is quite serious, for it comes from my heart. I was born for a different life, for different sentiments to yours, and I know that I possess none of those qualities which they say make the women of your country so attractive. Their ideas and associations are very different to mine, which you call the superstitions of a young barbarian, and which I want to forget in order to learn to understand you and to have no rivals."
"Are you quite sure that you would not lose by the change?"
"Thank you," said Kondjé-Gul; "that's what I call a compliment."
"The fact is," I replied, "the very thing I like about you is that you do not in any way resemble the women whom we have just met."
"Oh!" she said, with an indescribable gesture of pride, "it's not those women I envy! But I see others whom I would like to resemble—in their manners and tone, of course. If you're a nice fellow, do you know what you will do for me?"
"What?"
"It's a dream, a scheme which I have been continually thinking over. You won't laugh at me, will you?"
"No. Let's hear your grand scheme."
"Well, then, if you would like to make me very happy, place me for a few months in one of those convents where your young ladies are educated. You would come and see me every day, so that I should not be too dull away from you."
"That's the queerest idea I have ever heard from you; fancy a Mahommedan girl at a convent!" I said, with a laugh.