Atlantida

"Indeed we shall not refuse," Morhange replied.

We followed M. Le Mesge along a long winding corridor with frequent

steps. The passage was dark. But at intervals rose-colored night

lights and incense burners were placed in niches cut into the solid

rock. The passionate Oriental scents perfumed the darkness and

contrasted strangely with the cold air of the snowy peaks.

From time to time, a white Targa, mute and expressionless as a

phantom, would pass us and we would hear the clatter of his slippers

die away behind us.

M. Le Mesge stopped before a heavy door covered with the same pale

metal which I had noticed on the walls of the library. He opened it

and stood aside to let us pass.

Although the dining room which we entered had little in common with

European dining rooms, I have known many which might have envied its

comfort. Like the library, it was lighted by a great window. But I

noticed that it had an outside exposure, while that of the library

overlooked the garden in the center of the crown of mountains.

No center table and none of those barbaric pieces of furniture that we

call chairs. But a great number of buffet tables of gilded wood, like

those of Venice, heavy hangings of dull and subdued colors, and

cushions, Tuareg or Tunisian. In the center was a huge mat on which a

feast was placed in finely woven baskets among silver pitchers and

copper basins filled with perfumed water. The sight of it filled me

with childish satisfaction.

M. Le Mesge stepped forward and introduced us to the two persons who

already had taken their places on the mat.

"Mr. Spardek," he said; and by that simple phrase I understood how far

our host placed himself above vain human titles.

The Reverend Mr. Spardek, of Manchester, bowed reservedly and asked

our permission to keep on his tall, wide-brimmed hat. He was a dry,

cold man, tall and thin. He ate in pious sadness, enormously.

"Monsieur Bielowsky," said M. Le Mesge, introducing us to the second

guest.

"Count Casimir Bielowsky, Hetman of Jitomir," the latter corrected

with perfect good humor as he stood up to shake hands.

I felt at once a certain liking for the Hetman of Jitomir who was a

perfect example of an old beau. His chocolate-colored hair was parted

in the center (later I found out that the Hetman dyed it with a

concoction of khol). He had magnificent whiskers, also

chocolate-colored, in the style of the Emperor Francis Joseph. His

nose was undeniably a little red, but so fine, so aristocratic. His

hands were marvelous. It took some thought to place the date of the

style of the count's costume, bottle green with yellow facings,

ornamented with a huge seal of silver and enamel. The recollection of

a portrait of the Duke de Morny made me decide on 1860 or 1862; and

the further chapters of this story will show that I was not far wrong.