We were unusually merry, and fell into toasts and
speeches. I felt as if I had been his intimate friend for years, for
he had not one atom of Levantine "humbug" in his composition. Poor
fellow, little did he think, that in a few short weeks from this
period his blood would flow as freely as the wine which he poured into
my cup.
Next morning, on awaking, all the house was in a bustle: the sun shone
brightly on the green satin coverlet of my bed, and a tap at the door
announced the collector, who entered in his dressing gown with the
apparatus of brandy and sweetmeats, and joined his favourable augury
to mine for the day's journey.
"You will have a rare journey," said the collector; "the country is a
garden, the weather is clear, and neither hot nor cold. The nearer you
get to Bosnia, the more beautiful is the landscape."
We each drank a thimbleful of slivovitsa, he to my prosperous journey,
while I proposed health and long life to him; but, as the sequel
showed, "_l'homme propose, et Dieu dispose_." After breakfast, I bade
Madame Ninitch adieu, and descended to the court-yard, where two
carriages of the collector awaited us, our horses being attached
behind.
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