the Elevated Court is at Fez. It is because our Master--Allah
send him more victories!--has been pleased to 'visit' Sidi Abdeslam, and
send him to the prison of Mequinez. All the wealth he has extorted has
been taken away from him by our Master, and he will see no more light.
Twenty or more of these women are of his house."

Now each dilal has his people sorted out, and the procession begins.
Followed by their bargains the dilals march round and round the market,
and I understand why the dust was laid before the procession commenced.

Most of the slaves are absolutely free from emotion of any sort: they move
round as stolidly as the blind-folded horses that work the water-wheels in
gardens beyond the town, or the corn mills within its gates. I think the
sensitive ones--and there are a few--must come from the household of the
unfortunate Sidi Abdeslam, who was reputed to be a good master. Small
wonder if the younger women shrink, and if the black visage seems to take
on a tint of ashen grey, when a buyer, whose face is an open defiance of
the ten commandments, calls upon the dilal to halt, and, picking one out
as though she had been one of a flock of sheep, handles her as a butcher
would, examining teeth and muscles, and questioning her and the dilal very
closely about past history and present health. And yet the European
observer must beware lest he read into incidents of this kind something
that neither buyer nor seller would recognise. Novelty may create an
emotion that facts and custom cannot justify.

[Illustration: THE SLAVE MARKET]

"Ah, Tsamanni," says my gossip from the Atlas to the big dilal who led the
prayers, and is in special charge of the children for sale, "I will speak
to this one," and Tsamanni pushes a tiny little girl into his arms. The
child kisses the speaker's hand. Not at all unkindly the Moor takes his
critical survey, and Tsamanni enlarges upon her merits.

"She does not come from the town at all," he says glibly, "but from
Timbuctoo. It is more difficult than ever to get children from there. The
accursed Nazarenes have taken the town, and the slave market droops. But
this one is desirable: she understands needlework, she will be a companion
for your house, and thirty-five dollars is the last price bid."

"One more dollar, Tsamanni. She is not ill-favoured, but she is poor and
thin. Nevertheless say one dollar more," says the Moor.

"The praise to Allah, who made the world," says the dilal