When coming from the Desert I rode through a village which lies near to the city on the eastern side, there approached me with busy face and earnest gestures a personage in the Turkish dress. His long flowing beard gave him rather a majestic look, but his briskness of manner, and his visible anxiety to accost me, seemed strange in an Oriental. The man in fact was French, or of French origin, and his object was to warn me of the plague, and prevent me from entering the city.
“Arrêtez-vous, monsieur, je vous en prie—arrêtez-vous; il ne faut pas entrer dans la ville; la peste y règne partout.”
“Oui, je sais, [203a] mais—”
“Mais monsieur, je dis la peste—la peste; c’est de LA PESTE qu’il est question.”
“Oui, je sais, mais—”
“Mais monsieur, je dis encore LA PESTE—LA PESTE. Je vous conjure de ne pas entrer dans la ville—vous seriaz dans une ville empestée.”
“Oui, je sais, mais—”
“Mais monsieur, je dois donc vous avertir tout bonnement que si vous entrez dans la ville, vous serez—enfin vous serez COMPROMIS!” [203b]
“Oui, je sais, mais—”
The Frenchman was at last convinced that it was vain to reason with a mere Englishman, who could not understand what it was to be “compromised.” I thanked him most sincerely for his kindly meant warning; in hot countries it is very unusual indeed for a man to go out in the glare of the sun and give free advice to a stranger.