“You like Constantinople?”
I respond in a sweet Japanese accent—
“Sama, san!”
“How long have you been in Constantinople?”
I give it to him in English—
“I arrived there in the year 1851—thirty-six years ago.”
“Mon Dieu!—mon Dieu!—mon Dieu!” he exclaims, “Have you lived there ever since that time?”
“Beaucoup, Monsieur!”
He has not yet learned my nationality. I am afraid every moment that he will strike America. It comes—
“Perhaps you have been in America?”