I had been warned to abstain from walking in the streets, and, above all, to avoid venturing into the bazaar.

I neglected both pieces of advice, and walked out once or twice every day during my stay, without once meeting with an adventure of any kind.
I had already been at Beyrout ten long, long days, and still no opportunity offered of getting to Alexandria.

But at the end of June the worthy artist Sattler, whose acquaintance I had made at Constantinople, arrived here.

He found me out, and proposed that I should travel to Damascus with Count Berchtold, a French gentleman of the name of De Rousseau, and himself, instead of wasting my time here.

This proposition was a welcome one to me, for I ardently desired to be released from my fowls' nest.