'
at Oxford, and was almost inclined to wish that Marnier was the rowdy
type of undergrad, who ducks people in water troughs and makes bonfires
in quads."

"H'm!" said the doctor gravely. "Better, perhaps, if he had been."

"Much better," I answered. "At seven o'clock we ate a rather tough
dinner in the small, bare _salle-a-manger_, on the red brick floor of
which sand grains were lying. Our only companion was a bearded priest in
a dirty soutane, the aumonier of Beni-Kouidar, who sat at a little table
apart, and greeted our entrance with a polite bow, but did not then
speak to us.

"When the meal was ended, however, he joined us as we stood at the inn
door looking out into the night. A moon was rising above the palms, and
gilding the cupolas of the Bureau Arabe on the far side of the Market
Square. A distant noise of tomtoms and African pipes was audible.
And all down the hill to our left--for the land rose to where the inn
stood--fires gleamed, and we could see half-naked figures passing and
repassing them, and others squatting beside, looking like monks in their
hooped burnouses.

"'You are going out, messieurs?' said the aumonier politely.

"I looked at Marnier.

"'You're too done up, I expect?' I said to him.

"His face was pale, and he certainly had the demeanour of a tired man.

"'No,' he answered. 'I should like to stroll in this wonderful air.'

"I turned to the priest.

"'Yes, monsieur,' I said.

"'I come here to take my meals, but I live at the edge of the town.
Perhaps you will permit me to accompany you for a little way.'

"'We shall be delighted, and we know nothing of Beni-Kouidar.'

"As we stepped out into the market Marnier paused to light his pipe. But
suddenly he threw away the match he had struck.

"'No, it's a sin to smoke in this air,' he said.

"And he drew a deep breath, looking at the round moon.

"The priest smiled.

"'I have lived here for four years,' he said, 'and cannot resist my
cigar. But you are right. The air of Beni-Kouidar is extraordinary. When
first I came here it used to mount to my head like wine.'

"'Bad for you, Marnier!' I said, laughing.

"Then I added, to the aumonier:

"'My friend never drinks wine, and so ought to be peculiarly susceptible
to such an influence.'"

II

"Opposite to the aumonier's dwelling was the great dancing-house of the
town, and when we had bade him good-night, and turned to go back to the
inn, I rather tentatively sugge