Page:Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag, Volume 2.djvu/157

Rh who had "tyrant" written in every line of his bad, blasé little face and figure. French polish could not hide the brute, nor any quantity of flowers conceal the chain by which he was leading his new serf away to bondage in St. Petersburg.

Into the midst of this select society came a countryman of our three,—a jocund youth fresh from Algiers, with relics, adventures, and tales that utterly eclipsed the Arabian Nights. Festive times followed, for the "Peri" (the pet name of aforesaid youth) gave them the fruits of his long wanderings, sung whole operas heard in Paris, danced ballets seen in Berlin, recounted perils among the Moors, served up gossip from the four corners of the globe, and conversed with each member of the household in his or her own language.

A cheerful comrade was the "Peri," and a great addition to the party, who now spent most of their time sitting about the town, eating grapes, and listening to the pranks of this sprightly M.D., who seemed to be studying his profession by wandering over Europe with a guitar à la troubadour.

Sounding the lungs of a veiled princess in Morocco was the least of his adventures, and the treasures he