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man. There was a moment of silence and then the conversation shifted to something else. Vladimir started speaking in Russian, the three De Moerders were off upon one of their political disputes, and after a few moments Rehid Bey leaned toward Isabelle and whispered subtly into her ear:
    "Have lunch with me tomorrow. Come to the Turkish consulate at a quarter after twelve."
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    S he was in the city by eleven o'clock, and having nothing to do, amused herself for a while at the Maison Vacheron-Constantin where she watched the workmen, all of them old and wearing identical black cravats and light blue smocks, assembling watches in elaborate casings, including one, she was told, for the emperor of Japan.
    Despite the cold she strode around the old part of town, finding her way to the Russian church whose eight gold onion domes filled her with nostalgia for a homeland she had never seen.
    Finally, at the exact time, which she read off the giant clock in the tower of the Hotel de Ville, she entered the lobby of a baroque mansion which housed the Turkish consulate. Here she paused for a moment before the concierge's grate, rubbed her hands to relieve the freeze, unwrapped her long white scarf which Old Nathalie had embellished with blue fleurs-de-lis, and quivering with excitement, entered the office door.
    She found herself facing an empty desk. In another room she could hear muffled conversation, then, finally, an " au revoir ." A serious-looking woman with thick black curls and an intense expression came out to the anteroom, looked Isabelle up and down and strode out the door. A minute passed, then another girl appeared. She asked Isabelle whom she wished to see.
    "Ah, Mr. Bey," she said. "The new vice-consul is so charming!"
    She walked back into the other room, but Isabelle could hear her speak.
    "A lady is here, and I must say she looks quite young."
    "Thank you very much, Mademoiselle, and you should feel free now to take your lunch."
    The secretary walked out of the office without giving Isabelle a glance. Rehid Bey appeared a moment later dressed in splendidly cut pants of pinstriped wool and over his starched white shirt a gray suede vest.
    "How marvelous to see you! How splendid you've come!" He took her hand, squeezed it, then brought it to his lips.
    "I've been looking forward so much to seeing you alone. After yesterday's race across the ice–which was, positively, the best time I've had all winter–I felt we should come to know one another well." By this time he was guiding her out the door, and she found it odd that he was wearing neither jacket nor coat. "I'm very fond of your brothers–they're quite intelligent and very enthusiastic, too. But you–well–" At this moment he turned up from the crouch he'd assumed while locking the door. "–you strike me as being very special." The lock clicked in place.
    "One hears a great deal about people from relatives and mutual friends and so often one is disappointed. Do you know what I mean?" She nodded–they were walking then across the lobby, though not, she noticed, toward the front door. Suddenly she became self-conscious. The concierge was looking at her and smiling and she could hear the echo of her footsteps on the marble floor. "But you, Isabelle, do not disappoint. And I have heard a great deal about you."
    He paused then at the foot of stairs that curled out of the lobby in a spiral loop. "I hope you won't think I'm presumptuous. I had thought of taking you to an elegant restaurant for lunch. Then it occurred to me there would be too many distractions–waiters, other diners, that sort of thing. So I am asking you to lunch with me at my home, which just happens to be up this flight."
    Isabelle was astonished and at the same time delighted by the strange things that befall one in life. She had not really imagined what their lunch would be like, though she'd had a vague notion they'd sit together in a café. The thought of visiting his