made up his mind to go to Constantinople, and Bruno made no objection, though he only resigned himself to the move unwillingly. So it came to pass that master and servant found themselves on the quay of Top-Hané, in the City of the Faithful.
About this time of the evening some passers-by appeared, strangers chiefly. Then two or three Turks walked past conversing, and the keeper of a café established at the end of the square arranged his unfilled tables leisurely, pending the expected arrival of his customers.
"In less than an hour," remarked one of the Turks, "the sun will have dipped beneath the waves of the Bosphorus, and then—"
"And then," continued another, "we shall be able to eat and drink in comfort, and smoke at our ease."
"This Fast of Ramadan is very long."
"All fasts are tedious," was the reply, as the interlocutors passed on.
Meanwhile two strangers were exchanging opinions upon the same subject, as they paced in front of the café.
"These Turks are extraordinary fellows," said one. "Really, a traveller who happened to arrive in Constantinople during this melancholy Lenten season would have but a poor opinion of the capital."
"Bah," replied the other, "London is no more gay on a Sunday. If the Turks fast during the day, they make up for their abstinence at night. When the sunset gun is fited, the odour of cooking and the smoke of tobacco will arise simultaneously with the people, and the streets will resume their wonted gaiety."
It would seem that the stranger was right in his estimate, for at that moment the proprietor of the café called out to his waiter,—
"See that everything is prepared. In an hour we shall be overwhelmed by the flood of customers."
The two strangers meanwhile continued their conversation.
"I think that Constantinople is best worth visiting during this period of the Ramadan. If the days are sad and triste like a succession of Ash Wednesdays, the evenings are gay and festive as a carnival."
