ently I refused, from fear
of the disagreeable consequences and troubles it might entail upon me.

"One evening, at the beginning of summer, as I was going home, after
going over the farm, as I wanted Mohammed, I went into his tent without
calling him, as I frequently did, and there I saw a woman, a girl,
sleeping almost naked, with her arms crossed under her head, on one of
those thick, red carpets, made of the fine wool of Djebel-Amour, and
which are as soft and as thick as a feather bed. Her body, which was
beautifully white under the ray of light that came in through the raised
covering of the tent, appeared to me to be one of the most perfect
specimens of the human race that I had ever seen, and most of the women
about here are beautiful and tall, and are a rare combination of features
and shape. I let the edge of the tent fall in some confusion, and
returned home.

"I love women! The sudden flash of this vision had penetrated and
scorched me, and had rekindled in my veins that old, formidable ardor to
which I owe my being here. It was very hot for it was July, and I spent
nearly the whole night at my window, with my eyes fixed on the black
Mohammed's tent made on the ground.

"When he came into my room the next morning, I looked him closely in the
face, and he hung his head, like a man who was guilty and in confusion.
Did he guess that I knew? I, however, asked him, suddenly:

"'So you are married, Mohammed?' and I saw that he got red, and he
stammered out: 'No, _mo'ssieuia_!'

"I used to make him speak French to me, and to give me Arabic lessons,
which was often productive of a most incoherent mixture of languages;
however, I went on:

"'Then why is there a woman in your tent?'

"'She comes from the South,' he said, in a low, apologetic voice.

"'Oh! So she comes from the South? But that does not explain to me how
she comes to be in your tent.'

"Without answering my question, he continued:

"'She is very pretty.'

"'Oh! Indeed. Another time, please, when you happen to receive a pretty
woman from the South, you will take care that she comes to my _gourbi_,
and not to yours. You understand me, Mohammed?'

"'Yes, _mo'ssieuia_,' he repeated, seriously.

"I must acknowledge that during the whole day I was in a state of
aggressive excitement at the recollection of that Arab girl lying on the
red carpet, and when I went in at dinner time, I felt very strongly
inclined to go to Mohammed's tent again. Dur