The furniture is composed of two French stoves, several German ditto,
some ovens on the economic plan, (especially if you never make fire in
them,) a dozen stove pipes, some red clay, some sheet iron, and a whole
host of heating apparatus. We may mention, to complete the inventory, a
hammock suspended from two nails inserted in the wall, a three-legged
garden chair, a candlestick adorned with its _bobeche_, and some other
similar objects of elegant art. 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