Stephen scarcely noticed the two
figures. The fine-looking Arab had ceased to be of importance since he
had left the ship, and would see no more of Victoria Ray.
The chauffeur who drove Nevill's car was an Algerian who looked as if he
might have a dash of dark blood in his veins. Beside him sat the Kabyle
servant, who, in his picturesque embroidered clothes, with his jaunty
fez, appeared amusingly out of place in the smart automobile, which
struck the last note of modernity. The chauffeur had a reckless, daring
face, with the smile of a mischievous boy; but he steered with caution
and skill through the crowded streets where open trams rushed by, filled
to overflowing with white-veiled Arab women of the lower classes, and
French girls in large hats, who sat crushed together on the same seats.
Arabs walked in the middle of the street, and disdained to quicken their
steps for motor cars and carriages. Tiny children with charming brown
faces and eyes like wells of light, darted out from the pavement, almost
in front of the motor, smiling and begging, absolutely, fearless and
engagingly impudent. It was all intensely interesting to Stephen, who
was, however, conscious enough of his past to be glad that he was able
to take so keen an interest. He had the sensation of a man who has been
partially paralyzed, and is delighted to find that he can feel a pinch.
The Hotel de la Kasbah, which Victoria frankly admitted she had chosen
because of its low prices, was, as its name indicated, close to the
mounting of the town, near the corner of a tortuous Arab street, narrow
and shadowy despite its thick coat of whitewash.
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