These were members of great families, rulers of tribes, men who had
influence over the Sahara people. One, a shortish man with a coal-black
beard, moved so majestically that he seemed almost a giant. His face was
very pale. On one of his small, almost white, hands glittered a diamond
ring. A boy with a long, hooked nose strolled gravely near him, wearing
brown kid gloves and a turban spangled with gold.

"That is the Kaid of Tonga, Madame," whispered Batouch, looking at the
pale man reverently. "He is here _en permission_."

"How white he is."

"They tried to poison him. Ever since he is ill inside. That is his
brother. The brown gloves are very chic."

A light carriage rolled rapidly by them in a white mist of dust. It was
drawn by a pair of white mules, who whisked their long tails as they
trotted briskly, urged on by a cracking whip. A big boy with heavy brown
eyes was the coachman. By his side sat a very tall young negro with a
humorous pointed nose, dressed in primrose yellow. He grinned at Batouch
out of the mist, which accentuated the coal-black hue of his whimsical,
happy face.

"That is the Agha's son with Mabrouk."

They turned aside from the road and came into a long tunnel formed by
mimosa trees that met above a broad path. To right and left were other
little paths branching among the trunks of fruit trees and the narrow
twigs of many bushes that grew luxuriantly. Between sandy brown banks,
carefully flattened and beaten hard by the spades of Arab gardeners,