“Twice during next day I encountered the charming Olga, driving with her aunt, in a smart victoria, and during the next week met them at several diplomatic functions.
“One afternoon, Olga and her chaperone accepted my invitation for a run on the ‘sixty,’ and I took them for a little tour of about thirty miles around the foot of the high Balkans, returning along the winding banks of the Isker. They were delighted, for the afternoon was perfect. I drove, and she sat up beside me, her hand on the horn.
“One night, ten days later, we were sitting out together in the bright moonlight in the garden of the Austrian Legation, and I found her not averse to a mild flirtation. I knew that the frock-coated Turk was jealous, and had become amused by it. On four or five occasions she had been out for runs with me—twice quite alone.
“I mentioned the Turk, but she only laughed, and shrugging her shoulders, answered:
”‘All Turks are as ridiculous as they are bigoted. Mehmed is no exception.’
“I was leaving Bulgaria next morning, and told her so.
”‘Perhaps, mademoiselle, we shall meet again some day, who knows?’ I added, ‘You have many friends in the diplomatic circle, so have I.’
”‘But you are not really going to-morrow!’ she exclaimed with undisguised dismay, opening her blue eyes widely, ‘surely you will stay for the ball at the palace on Wednesday.’
”‘I regret that is impossible,’ I replied, laughing. ‘I only wish I could remain and ask you to be my partner, but I have urgent business in Bucharest.’
”‘Oh! you go to Roumania!’ she cried in surprise. ‘But,’—she added wistfully, ‘I—I really wish you could remain longer.’