When they reached the place after sunset, the low square of the
building was a block of marble set in the dull gold of the desert,
carved in dazzling white against a deep-blue evening sky. Like Ben
Halim's house, it was roughly fortified, with many loopholes in the
walls, for it had been built to serve the uses of less peaceful days
than these. Within the strong gates, on one side were rooms for guests,
each with its own door and window opening into the huge court. On
another side of the square were the kitchens and dining-room, as well as
living-place for the Arab landlord and his hidden family; and opposite
was a roofed, open-fronted shelter for camels and other animals, the
ground yellow with sand and spilt fodder. Water overflowed from a small
well, making a pool in the courtyard, in which ducks and geese waddled,
quacking, turkey-cocks fought in quiet corners, barked at impotently by
Kabyle puppies. Tall, lean hounds or sloughis, kept to chase the desert
gazelles, wandered near the kitchens, in the hope of bones, and camels
gobbled dismally as their tired drivers forced them to their knees, or
thrust handfuls of date stones down their throats. There were sheep,
too, and goats; and even a cow, the "perpetual mother" loved and valued
by Arabs.
M'Barka refused to "read the sand" that night, when Maieddine suggested
it. The sand would yield up its secrets only under the stars, she said,
and wished to wait until they should be in the tents.
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