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up to see me after dinner. I offered him some champagne, which he drank with evident pleasure. After a little preliminary talk about the prospects of sheep-breeding that year, he asked me if I would care to take a walk with him in the village. I accepted, expecting to be taken to a gathering of learned muftis, but to my surprise we wended our way to the reserved quarters of the native dancing-girls. Our entry into the house we sought caused, to say the least of it, a sensation. The girls precipitated themselves towards the old man and kissed his shoulder and his turban. Cushions were brought, carpets and rugs, and a throne was made for him. I was accommodated with a stool at his feet. A tray was brought with honey cakes and milk, but the marabout waved it all away.

"Bring me beer," he commanded.

Beer was brought and we solemnly clinked glasses.

Dancing-girls from the neighboring houses appeared and kissed his turban. A few men drifted in, but seeing who was present, discreetly disappeared.

The marabout turned to me solemnly and said:

"In your country do you have dancing-girls as in North Africa?"

I shook my head.

"Neither did we before the French came. Your people have much wisdom," he replied. "They are Christians, are they not?"

"Yes," I said, "but there are also Jews in my country, and in our dominions there are Mohammedans and Hindus and Buddhists."

The old man’s eyes fixed themselves on me.

"But are there, then, other sects than Mohammedan, Christian, and Jew?"

"Oh yes," I went on, and I tried to give him a rough outline of the other faiths of the world. He listened to me in silence.