beneath the pillared portico, for it was a real house, the home of well-to-do citizens. There was a carpet on the floor beneath the arcades and a portrait of the Shereef of Mecca pinned against the wall. And on the top of a trunk there were some empty bottles, serving as candlesticks. Unwonted luxury!
Adieu, dear old grandmother! Adieu, little grand-daughters! Adieu, El-Farrudje! I have promised to come back again some day. Yes, I must come back!
I wend my way along the so-called Marguerite Avenue in the Rumi, or foreign quarter. The sun is beginning to set, and everywhere I can see the proud Caids strolling about attended by their courts. It is the hour for the promenade, when people exchange news and gossip about politics. There are no shrill cries here of "L'ah'lib! L'ah'lib!" or "milk ho!" no little girls offering "Krubs zudjs!" or bread for sale; such things would be considered quite beneath the dignity of this aristocratic quarter. They are all very well for the rabble, but they won't do here, where everyone is of noble birth and dignified bearing, and where people walk about slowly as becomes those of good position.
And all the time in the densely populated Aulâd-Naïl settlement, down there in the steep street, the men are taking their rest during this time of
