weddings! What will the young husband see when the haik and ksa veiling the face of the bride are removed for the first time? Perhaps it will be a veritable houri from Paradise, flexible as a reed, graceful as a gazelle in her movements, beautiful as the star of dawn, with eyes of fire, with teeth as white as the Atlas snows and with lips as scarlet and alluring as the heart of a ripe pomegranate. Happy will he be, thrice happy then. But the falling veils may disclose a much-too-somber skin, crossed eyes, only occasional, discolored teeth or purple Negro lips, inherited from the mother, a slave from the Sudan or Tuat. It will be small consolation to him that the black monster is deft in preparing kouskous, soffa, the various tazhin, meshwi and other dainties of the Berber kitchen. The poor husband will also not be consoled by that thought that, thanks to the Tlemsen fashion, his wife has not a tattooed face, as have other inhabitants of this part of Africa, for Nature herself has tattooed her in black from the top of her curly head to the tips of her toes. Unhappy will he be, an hundred times unhappy!
One must add that the hazardous bridegroom has paid to the father of the houri or of the black monster a large dowry and that, from the moment he crosses the threshold of the bride's room, he is compelled to remain in the household of her father and consequently incurs, besides his doubtful investment of capital, the risk of what his treatment by the family will be—that of a member in good standing or that of a servant, almost a slave. I read all these doubts and anxious thoughts on the face of the
