I had always, however, understood that Lady Hester
Stanhope wore the male attire, and I began to utter in English the
common civilities that seemed to be proper on the commencement of a
visit by an uninspired mortal to a renowned prophetess; but the
figure which I addressed only bowed so much the more, prostrating
itself almost to the ground, but speaking to me never a word. I
feebly strived not to be outdone in gestures of respect; but
presently my bowing opponent saw the error under which I was
acting, and suddenly convinced me that, at all events, I was not
YET in the presence of a superhuman being, by declaring that he was
not "miladi," but was, in fact, nothing more or less god-like than
the poor doctor, who had brought his mistress's letter to Beyrout.
Her ladyship, in the right spirit of hospitality, now sent and
commanded me to repose for a while after the fatigues of my
journey, and to dine.
The cuisine was of the Oriental kind, which is highly artificial,
and I thought it very good. I rejoiced too in the wine of the
Lebanon.
Soon after the ending of the dinner the doctor arrived with
miladi's compliments, and an intimation that she would he happy to
receive me if I were so disposed.
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