fixed by the landlord, and no entreaties will suffice to obtain a
meal at any other. So at four I dined, and after dinner was again
reduced to despair.

I was sitting in the cavernous chamber almost mad at the prospect of
the week before me, when I heard a noise as of various feet in the
passage leading from the quadrangle. Was it possible that other
human beings were coming into the hotel--Christian human beings at
whom I could look, whose voices I could hear, whose words I could
understand, and with whom I might possibly associate? I did not
move, however, for I was still hot, and I knew that my chances might
be better if I did not show myself over eager for companionship at
the first moment. The door, however, was soon opened, and I saw
that at least in one respect I was destined to be disappointed. The
strangers who were entering the room were not Christians--if I might
judge by the nature of the garments in which they were clothed.

The door had been opened by the man in an old dressing-gown and
slippers, whom I had seen sitting inside the gate. He was the Arab
porter of the hotel, and as he marshalled the new visitors into the
room, I heard him pronounce some sound similar to my own name, and
perceived that he pointed me out to the most prominent person of
those who then entered the apartment. This was a stout, portly man,
dressed from head to foot in Eastern costume of the brightest
colours. He wore, not only the red fez cap which everybody wears--
even I had accustomed myself to a fez cap--but a turban round it, of
which the voluminous folds were snowy white. His face was fat, but
not the less grave, and the lower part of it was enveloped in a
magnificent beard, which projected round it on all sides, and
touched his breast as he walked. It was a grand grizzled beard, and