"Well, my son," said his host, after Abdullah began to pick and choose, "what brings you to me?"
"This," said Abdullah, and he felt in his bosom, and drew out the invoice of his passenger.
His host took from a book upon the table a pair of steel-bowed spectacles—the only pair in the Sahara. He placed the bow upon his nose, the curves behind his ears, snuffed the taper with his fingers, took the invoice from Abdullah, and read. He read it once, looked up, and said nothing. He read it a second time, looked up, and said: "Well, what of it?"
"Is it legal?" asked Abdullah.
"Doubtless," said his host, "since it is a hiring, merely, not a sale; and it is to be executed in Biskra, which is under the French rule."
"The French rule is beneficent, doubtless?" asked Abdullah.
His host did not answer for some minutes; then he said: "It is a compromise; and certain souls deem compromises to be justice. The real men of this age, as of all others, do not compromise; they fight out right and wrong to a decision. The French came into Algeria to avenge a wrong. They fought, they conquered, and then they compromised. Having compromised, they must fight and conquer all over again."
"You are a Frenchman, are you not?" asked Abdullah.
"No," replied his host, "I am a Parisian."
"Ah," exclaimed Abdullah, "I thought they were the same thing."