"
So they made their pilgrimage to the third treasure of the hill-village;
and then away to where the crumbling walls of Mansourah, and that great
tower, which is one of the noblest Moorish relics in all Algeria, rise
out of a flowering plain.
Cherry blossoms fell in scented snow over their heads as the car ran
back to Tlemcen, and out once more, through the Moorish Porte de Fez,
past the reservoir built by a king for an Arab beauty to sail her boats
upon. Sunset was near, and the sky blazed red as if Mansourah burned
with ten thousand torches.
The way led through vast blue lakes which were fields of periwinkles,
and along the road trotted pink-robed children, whose heads were wrapped
in kerchiefs of royal purple. They led sheep with golden-gleaming
fleece, and at the tombs of marabouts they paused to pray, among groups
of kneeling figures in long white cloaks and turbans. All the atmosphere
swam with changing colours, such as come and go in the heart of a
fire-opal.
Very beautiful must have been the city of Mansourah, named after
murdered Sultan el Mansour, the Victorious, who built its vast
fortifications, its mosques and vanished palaces, its caravanserais and
baths, in the seven years when he was besieging Tlemcen. And still are
its ruins beautiful, after more than five centuries of pillage and
destruction. Josette Soubise loved the place, and often came to it when
her day's work was done, therefore she was happy showing it to Nevill
and--incidentally--to the others.
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