l
the sister-heroines of demi-monde dragged their voluminous Paris-made
dresses side by side with Moorish beauties, who only dared show the
gleam of their bright black eyes through the yashmak; the reverberes
were lit in the Place du Gouvernement, and a group fit for the days
of Solyman the Magnificent sat under the white marble beauty of the
Mohammedan church. "Rein n'est sacre pour un sapeur!" was being sung
to a circle of sous-officiers, close in the ear of a patriarch serenely
majestic as Abraham; gaslights were flashing, cigar shops were
filling, newspapers were being read, the Rigolboche was being danced,
commis-voyageurs were chattering with grisettes, drums were beating,
trumpets were sounding, bands were playing, and, amid it all, grave
men were dropping on their square of carpet to pray, brass trays of
sweetmeats were passing, ostrich eggs were dangling, henna-tipped
fingers were drawing the envious veil close, and noble Oriental shadows
were gliding to and fro through the open doors of the mosques, like
a picture of the "Arabian Nights," like a poem of dead Islamism--in a
word, it was Algiers at evening.

In one of the cafes there, a mingling of all the nations under the
sun was drinking demi-tasses, absinthe, vermouth, or old wines, in the
comparative silence that had succeeded to a song, sung by a certain
favorite of the Spahis, known as Loo-Loo-j'n-m'en soucie guere, from
Mlle. Loo-Loo's well-known habits of independence and bravado, which
last had gone once so far as shooting a man through the chest in the
Rue Bab-al-Oued, and setting all the gendarmes and sergents-de-ville at
defiance afterward. Half a dozen of that famous regiment the Chasseurs
d'Afrique were gathered together, some with their feet resting on the
little marble-topped tables, some reading the French papers, all
smoking their inseparable companions--the brules-gueles; fine, stalwart,
sun-burned fellows, with faces and figures that the glowing colors of
their uniform set off to the best advantage.

"Loo-Loo was in fine voice to-night," said one.

"Yes; she took plenty of cognac before she sang; that always clears her
voice," said a second.

"And I think that did her spirits good, shooting that Kabyl," said a
third. "By the way, did he die?"

"N'sais pas, Loo-Loo's a good aim."

"Sac a papier, yes! Rire-pour-tout taught her."

"Ah! There never was a shot like Rire-pour-tout. When he went out, he
always asked his adversary, 'Where w