that they see in it the remnants of the old pagan beliefs of the Berbers who, especially in the higher regions of the Atlas Mountains, still remain under the power and domination of sorcerers and largely subject to the influence of magic science.
Outside one of the gates we tarried much longer, observing the native life in the narrow street where the tomb of Sidi Lahsen is situated. When Zofiette could not tear me away from there, she laughed, saying that, as the name of the saint was so much like Lhassa in Thibet, my interest for things Asiatic held me interminably in this little street of a North African town. But she also acknowledged that it was exceedingly picturesque with its white walls, in some places connected by arches above the white-paved street, and its grape-vines dimbing everywhere and often forming a green tent, through which the more bold and daring rays of the sun struck down like blades of shining swords.
Crowds of women swathed in bournouses, the magnificent figures of fine-looking, proud Hadars and groups of noisy children filled the street. Some were passing into the dark interior of the chapel over the barakka of the saint; others were drinking at the holy fountain, whose waters insure health to children, or were catching the precious liquid in variously shaped receptacles; while still others sat and lounged against the house walls, talking, deliberating or even quarreling or crying, as was the case with one old woman who, in her despair, neglected to veil her face and sat there, wringing her hands and scratching her cheeks until the blood ran, sobbing, sobbing. Our guide listened a moment and then explained:
