As to the second room--that is to say, the balcony--two dwarf cypresses, in pots, make a park of it for fine weather.
At the moment of our entry, the occupant of the premises, a young man, dressed like a Turk of the Comic Opera, is finishing a repast, in which he shamelessly violates the law of the Prophet.

Witness a bone that was once a ham, and a bottle that has been full of wine.

His meal over, the young Turk stretches himself on the floor in true Eastern style, and begins carelessly to smoke a _narghile_.

While abandoning himself to this Asiatic luxury, he passes his hand from time to time over the back of a magnificent Newfoundland dog, who would doubtless respond to its caresses where he not also in terra cotta, to match the rest of the furniture.
Suddenly a noise was heard in the entry, and the door opened, admitting a person who, without saying a word, marched straight to one of the stoves, which served the purpose of a secretary, opened the stove-door, and drew out a bundle of papers.
"Hallo!" cried the new-comer, after examining the manuscript attentively, "the chapter on ventilators not finished yet!" "Allow me to observe, uncle," replied the Turk, "the chapter on ventilators is one of the most interesting in your book, and requires to be studied with care.

I am studying it." "But you miserable fellow, you are always saying that same thing.