At length the eyes disappeared—­the curtain quivered—­one side went up before the other, which stuck fast; it was dropped again, and, with a fresh effort, and a vigorous pull from some unseen hand, it flew up, revealing to our sight a magnificent gentleman in the Turkish costume, seated before a little table, gazing at us (I should have said with the same eyes that I had last seen through the hole in the curtain) with calm and condescending dignity, “like a being of another sphere,” as I heard a sentimental voice ejaculate behind me.

“That’s not Signor Brunoni!” said Miss Pole decidedly; and so audibly that I am sure he heard, for he glanced down over his flowing beard at our party with an air of mute reproach.  “Signor Brunoni had no beard—­but perhaps he’ll come soon.”  So she lulled herself into patience.  Meanwhile, Miss Matty had reconnoitred through her eye-glass, wiped it, and looked again.  Then she turned round, and said to me, in a kind, mild, sorrowful tone —

“You see, my dear, turbans are worn.”

But we had no time for more conversation.  The Grand Turk, as Miss Pole chose to call him, arose and announced himself as Signor Brunoni.

“I don’t believe him!” exclaimed Miss Pole, in a defiant manner.  He looked at her again, with the same dignified upbraiding in his countenance.  “I don’t!” she repeated more positively than ever.  “Signor Brunoni had not got that muffy sort of thing about his chin, but looked like a close-shaved Christian gentleman.”

Miss Pole’s energetic speeches had the good effect of wakening up Mrs Jamieson, who opened her eyes wide, in sign of the deepest attention—­a proceeding which silenced Miss Pole and encouraged the Grand Turk to proceed, which he did in very broken English—­so broken that there was no cohesion between the parts of his sentences; a fact which he himself perceived at last, and so left off speaking and proceeded to action.

Now we were astonished.  How he did his tricks I could not imagine; no, not even when Miss Pole pulled out her pieces of paper and began reading aloud—­or at least in a very audible whisper—­the separate “receipts” for the most common of his tricks.  If ever I saw a man frown and look enraged, I saw the Grand Turk frown at Miss Pole; but, as she said, what could be expected but unchristian looks from a Mussulman?  If Miss Pole were sceptical, and more engrossed with her receipts and diagrams than with his tricks, Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester were mystified and perplexed to the highest degree.  Mrs Jamieson kept taking her spectacles off and wiping them, as if she thought it was something defective in them which made the legerdemain; and Lady Glenmire, who had seen many curious sights in Edinburgh, was very much struck with the tricks, and would not at all agree with Miss Pole, who declared that anybody could do them with a little practice, and that she would, herself, undertake to do all he did, with two hours given to study the Encyclopaedia and make her third finger flexible.