last hour of modern fashions and talking as loudly as though each one were giving orders to a squadron of cavalry. Zofiette smiled a bit ironically and repeated the rather frivolous advice of Abu Median to the young girl in quest of a rich husband:
"Let the chosen one hear your voice and see your foot"
"Yes," I exclaimed in fullest sympathy with her mood, "this counsel may have been appropriate for Arab women; but their European cousins often send forth voices which one would prefer not to hear and as frequently allow much to be seen that does not merit display."
"You are not entirely in the right, my dear," protested Zofiette. "See what very pretty feet that nicely formed blonde has!"
I did not want to look, as I felt the whole immensity of anachronism between the silks of the tourists and the venerated kubbas of Abu Median, Lalla Setti, Sidi Merzug and many other Walis. I lost my good humor—and felt hungry. We therefore returned to the hotel for luncheon and, afterward, went out once more into the town.
Our guide took us to the Meshwar, the ancient fortress with its massive walls, which was formerly the dwelling of the Berber potentates, then later that of the Turks. At the time of the Almohade sultans their vice-regents occupied the stronghold; while afterwards, during the dynasty of the Abd el-Wadites, the sultan himself had his residence here. Following this, the Turkish governors used it as their abode. This was the darkest period for Tlemsen, a fact which the poet Benemsaib made to
