desert that blossom early and fade ere noontide comes.
Sometimes such flowers are very beautiful. As I heard the flute of Smain
in the pale yellow twilight I knew that Oreida was beautiful--with one
of those exquisite, lithe figures, whose movements make a song; with
long, narrow dark eyes, mysterious pools of light and shadow; with thick
hair falling loosely round a low, broad forehead; and perfect little
hands, made for the dance of the hands that the Bedouin loves so well.

All this I knew from the sound of Smain's flute. I told it to Safti, and
bade him ask Smain if it were not true.

Smain's reply was:--

"She is more beautiful than that; she is like the young gazelle, and
like the first day after the fast of Ramadan."

Then he played once more while the moon rose over the palm gardens, and
Safti, lighting his pipe of keef with tender deliberateness, remarked
placidly:

"He would like to come with us to Touggourt and to die there at
Oreida's feet, but his father, Said-ben-Kouidar, wishes him to remain at
Sidi-Matou and to pack dates. He is young, and must obey. Therefore he
is sad."

The smoke rose up in a cloud round Smain and his flute, and now I
thought that, indeed, there was a wild pathos in the music. The moon
went up the sky, and threw silver on the palms. The gay cries from the
village died down. The gardeners lay upon the earth divans under the
palmwood roofs, and slept. And at last Smain bade us good-bye. I saw his
white figure glide across the great open space that the moon made white
as it was. And when the shadows took him I still heard the faint sound
of his flute, calling to his heart and to the distant Oreida through the
magical stillness of the night.

The next day we reached Touggourt, and in the evening I went with Safti
and the Caid of the Nomads to the great cafe of the dancers in the
outskirts of the town. At the door Arab soldiers were lounging. The
pipes squealed within like souls in torment. In the square bonfires
were blazing fiercely, and the whole desert seemed to throb with beaten
drums. Within the cafe was a crowd of Arabs, real nomads, some in rags,
some richly dressed, all gravely attentive to the dancers, who entered
from a court on the left, round which their rooms were built in
terraces, and danced in pairs between the broad divans.

"Tell me when Oreida comes," I said to Safti, while the Caid spread
forth his ample skirts, and turned a cigarette in his immense black
fin