CHAPTER XIV.

FROM MISS BEATRICE POLES, TO MISS EMILY——

"Although thi& letter is dated 'Cairo,' do not imagine, my dear friend, that I am going to describe that town. If you are really anxious to see it through my spectacles, you have only to turn to my letters of 1861, when I was assisting that most charming of all charming travellers, Alexina Tinne, to arrange the expedition which was to have reached the sources of the Nile, and in them you will find a very detailed account of Egypt. Consequently, for some time to come, you must not expect any geographical details. That part of Africa where I now am does not count for anything—it is far too civilized. The Nile merely recalls the Thames to my mind, and, as for the streets of Cairo, they are to me just like the Strand. Africa, eastwards, does not begin, in my idea, until you reach the latitude of Khartoum. When we get that far, and not until then, I will give you a bird's-eye view or two of the country. So, dearest, for the present, let us put geography on one side, and come to purely personal topics.

"You were rather angry with me, dear, were you not, on account of my sudden flitting, my hasty desertion from our cosy evenings and the tea which you know so well how to make, and my surrender of the excellent position which your interest obtained for me with that dear Mrs. Oxenford, to whom I send my warmest regards.

"I could not remain in a situation—the monotony is too much for me. Nature, you may depend upon it, had some design in view when she gave me such prolonged feet. They are ever beckoning the rest of my body onward; and my other members, smaller and less self-asserting, have nothing to do but obey. I verily believe that, if I were fool-hardy enough to attempt any resistance, they would end by simply detaching themselves, and setting out, unaccompanied, in search of adventure. Consequently, as in that case I should lose, if not the most becoming, at all events the most extensive part of myself, I prefer giving way. Every being in this world obeys an irresistible impulse of some kind. Many are guided by their head, which, not being weighty enough, turns and twists in empty nothingness at the mercy of every wind; others follow the dictates of their heart, and a pretty mess they make of it. As for me, I obey my feet. They very often lead me into terrible quagmires, but, as a rule, I get off with the loss of my shoes.

"Well, see me once more on my travels. I have deserted you, dearest, in the most shameful manner, have once more parted company with dear old England—for, notwithstanding my faithlessness, I love her—and the worst of it is that I have not the remotest idea whither I am bound. I am to go somewhere, and that is all that either I or my feet care about. They were beside themselves with joy, and frisked—nay, positively twinkled to such an extent, that it was a treat to see them. They are perfect beauties, I assure you, at such moments, and out-do themselves in expression.

"All the information I had was that I was wanted for another journey to Africa. But what part of Africa? And with whom was I destined to travel? What would be the component parts of the expedition? Should I be mixed up with geologists, astronomers, naturalists, zoologists, hydrographers, ethnologists, ideologists, ornithologists, or ethnographers? For expeditions, worthy the name, are made up of all those elements; they are the real stock-in-trade of a caravan.

"On my arrival in Paris, after presenting my letters of introduction to Madame de Guéran, I asked her to present me to the scientific members of the expedition, and she, to begin with, introduced me to a little doctor, who, in the sweetest voice imaginable, said—

"'Miss Poles, I have far more confidence in your experience than in my own diplomas. If we are ill, you are the one to take care of us, and I resign my functions into your hands.'

"'And, in that case, what are you going to do?' I asked.

"'I shall devote myself to natural history,' was the reply.

"And, so saying, he looked me up and down with an air of the greatest curiosity, as if I were some specimen in spirits of wine in a bottle.

"My next introduction was to a literary individual, and a very good-looking fellow into the bargain.

"'Miss Poles,' he commenced, 'I hear that you have been a prisoner with the Thouaregs, and I hope you will do me the favour of recounting to me your adventures whilst in the midst of that whimsical tribe. I should like to work them up into an article for the "_Revue de France_.'

"'Certainly not, sir,' said I, horrified, 'certainly not. The bare idea of having every detail of my life held up to the public gaze revolts me.'

"'Pardon me, if I have been indiscreet,' was his reply. 'I thought yours was merely a case of ordinary captivity.'

"'And, I, sir, never said it was not.'

"'My dear Miss Poles,' went on this impudent little animal, 'if I had only known that—'

"'Once more, sir—'

"'Not a word. Miss Poles, not a word. I will not ask any more questions.'

"Truly, these Parisians are unbearable. Judge for yourself. The last individual presented to me was a M. de Morin, a painter. Without giving me time to put my hair straight, or arrange my dress, or strike an attitude, out came his pencils, and in I went into his album.

"The likeness is good enough, I must confess; but I detest those sketchy productions which cannot possibly give any idea of womanly attractions. Fortunately, however, M. de Morin has promised me a portrait in oils, in which he will do his best to reproduce my smile and the brightness of my eyes.

"You know, dearest, that I am not given to illusions, and that I know exactly what value to place on myself. I am not what is called a pretty woman, but I have in my expression, in my look, a certain softness, a mellowness, in fact, such as the Spaniards term _morbidez_. A Thouareg Chief said to me one day—but I will not expatiate on these details. You know them, and we will keep them to ourselves.

"At first, as you will have guessed, this expedition did not inspire me with any great amount of confidence. The doctor did not want to have anything to do with medicine, the literary man wanted to pry into my private life, and the painter, instead of reserving his pencils for African curiosities, sketched me in déshabille.

"Well, my dear, I was mistaken. These people are originals, certainly, _fantaisistes_, as they call themselves; humourists, as we in England should call them; but they are very nice, and in reality very much in earnest. I think I shall get on with them, if they will only keep from being jealous of each other about me. The fact is—why should I try to hide it from you, the faithful depositary of all my secrets?—the fact is, I am afraid that all of them will make love to me.

"Already M. de Morin has bestowed on me some tender glances, whose meaning there is no mistaking, and I shall need all my tact, circumspection, and reserve, and plenty of the last. I have made up my mind to favour no one of the three, and so I trust that the expedition may pass over without any regular proposal.

"And, besides, I can rely upon Madame de Guéran for protection against any annoyance. These three gentlemen, but especially the painter and the literary man, are her slaves, body and soul. I thought at first that they were in love with her; but as I now see that they do not pay her a single compliment, but reserve all their attentions and flirtations for me, I am obliged to come to an opposite conclusion.

"And I am very glad to think that there is no chance of rivalry between the Baroness and me, for it would be very painful to me to wound in any way so thoroughly genial a woman. I am delighted to give her her due, for she is a high-minded, good-natured creature. Neither is she by any means deficient in firmness of character and resolute courage—in fact, she reminds me very much of that dear Miss Tinne, both as regards her beauty, her independence of character and her love of adventure. But I shall feel very much safer with the Baroness than I ever could with Alexina, who was a little too eccentric, poor dear, and involved us in adventures which I, for one, do not care to have repeated.

"But, here I am lingering over my chat with you, dearest, and all this time these men are calling out for me. Poor fellows! They are just like souls in purgatory if I am away from them for a moment."