a dark green jacket, and she had a glimpse
of glittering decorations before he pulled over his cloak so that they
were hidden. But it was his eyes which held her. They were large and as
black as night, and they were set in a face of such strength and
dignity that Jean knew instinctively that she was looking upon the
Moorish Pretender.

They stood for a second staring at one another, and then the Moor
stepped aside.

"Pardon," he said in French, "I am afraid I startled you."

Jean was breathing a little quicker. She could not remember in her life
any man who had created so immediate and favourable an impression. She
forgot her contempt for native people, forgot his race, his religion
(and religion was a big thing to Jean), forgot everything except that
behind those eyes she recognised something which was kin to her.

"You are English, of course," he said in that language.

"Scottish," smiled Jean.

"It is almost the same, isn't it?" He spoke without any trace of an
accent, without an error of grammar, and his voice was the voice of a
college man.

He had left the way open for her to pass on, but she lingered.

"You are Muley Hafiz, aren't you?" she asked, and he turned his head.
"I've read a great deal about you," she added, though in truth she had
read nothing.

He laughed, showing two rows of perfect white teeth. It was only by
contrast with their whiteness that she noticed the golden brown of his
complexion.

"I am of international interest," he said lightly and glanced round
toward his attendants.

She thought he was going and would have moved on, but he stopped her.

"You are the first English speaking person I have talked to since I've
been in France," he said, "except the American Ambassador." He smiled as
at a pleasant recollection.

"You talk almost like an Englishman yourself."

"I was at Oxford," he said. "My brother was at Harvard. My father, the
brother of the late Sultan, was a very progressive man and believed in
the Western education for his children. Won't you sit down?" he asked,
pointing to the sand.

She hesitated a second, and then sank to the ground, and crossing his
legs he sat by her side.

"I was in France for four years," he carried on, evidently anxious to
hold her in conversation, "so I speak both languages fairly well. Do you
speak Arabic?" He asked the question solemnly, but his eyes were bright
with laughter.

"Not very well," she answered gravely. "Are you staying ve