Saïd, for his part, bent his steps to the nearest tree, where was a group of loungers in the shade, walking slowly with care for his dignity. Never before had he mixed in such high company, and he felt awkward. But ere he had achieved many steps there was the sound of hoofs muffled by the rank grass, and Selìm stood again at his elbow.
“Look, effendi!” he said, pointing with his finger. “Seest thou the old man yonder?—he of the snowy turban and the striped cloak, black and white. It is a Durzi, one of the nation of the Drûz—whether from the Hauran or from the Mountain, Allah knows. A strange race, O my master!—thou hast doubtless heard speak of them. I bethought me that, being a stranger from afar, thou mightest like to see a true Durzi; that is why I come back to thee. They are our brothers in that matter of the Nazarenes of which we were speaking, and they are strong in war. They love not the Mowarni, their neighbours on the Mountain, who call themselves subjects of the French, and are very arrogant. Men say that there are threatenings of war between them. Look well at him, effendi. Mark how proud he stands. By the Quran he is the finest old man I ever saw. He is lord of all here by a head.”
Saïd admitted to have heard much talk of that strange race, of whom the very Government stood in awe, and even to have spoken with some of them on his journey. He agreed with Selìm that he had never met so noble-looking an old man as this sheykh in the black and white cloak, who, though his long beard was almost as white as his turban, yet stood alert and upright as if still in the prime of youth. He held a fine stallion, black as charcoal, by the bridle; and some young men of the city, who were examining the horse’s parts, looked oafish beside him for all their fine apparel. As Saïd took his stand on the outskirts of the little crowd of grandees his eyes were still observant of that stately figure. The black charger was every whit as admirable as his master. The old Durzi must be mad, Saïd thought, or very short, indeed, of money to wish to sell a horse like that. He himself would not have parted with such an animal for all the wealth of Istanbûl. The small head, the watchful eye, the listening ears, the distended nostrils, the strong, arched neck, the tail falling like a cascade, not hanging limp between the buttocks; a dainty trick of pawing the ground and prancing from mere pride of life—the charm of these things took Saïd’s breath away.
He was standing just within the shade of a great tree, about whose trunk the loungers clustered most thickly. Along the foot of a sunbaked wall beyond, roses, a little thicket of them, tangled like brambles over a brash of fallen stones and other refuse. The pink of blossoms among their dusty leaves was lustreless, veiled as in haze by the white glare from the wall. Their perfume reached Saïd faintly on that light breeze which springs up about the third hour of the day and breathes its fullest at noon.
The Bedawi had ceased his mad gallop in the sun’s eye and was now busy scraping the foam from his horse’s flanks with a piece of wood. Selìm had taken his place as rival of the town-bred groom, and the pair were careering about like madmen. Saïd shouted to him not to tire the horse—a cry which drew the attention of those who stood near. He caught a whisper: “He is a soldier—not so?” and knew, with a beating heart, that the red braiding of his robe was being canvassed. Then he heard a Turkish officer say, “It is but a mockery of our uniform paletot. That is no soldier’s garment, by Allah!” He knew the speaker for an officer by the clatter of a sword which preceded and followed the words, and for a Turk by the way he pronounced Arabic. But he did not turn his head or let it be known he had overheard. When at length he risked a backward glance it was to find that most of the company had moved away, leaving only a young officer and two Franks. They were talking lightly together, and seemed perfectly heedless of him or his clothes.
Presently, however, a laugh affronted his ears. It was a Frank’s laugh or an idiot’s, being very loud and quite devoid of understanding. Saïd felt uneasy but did not change his position, nor turn his head the fraction of an inch. Only he strained his ears to listen. Both the Franks were laughing now, and the sound of their mirth was like the braying of twin asses. They were trying to explain something to the Turk in a strange tongue. At last the officer seemed to understand, for he laughed too—not the meaningless laughter of the other two, but a subtle guffaw full of appreciation. Then he stepped forward and touched Saïd’s shoulder.
“By thy leave, uncle”—the familiarity of this style of address was gall and wormwood to the fisherman—“I would ask thee
