They gave a sign of astonishment. “And Morocco,” asked the other, “how many millions has it?”
“Four,” replied the Ambassador, feeling his ground.
“Only four!” they exclaimed ingenuously, looking at each other. Evidently these two brave generals knew no more about Morocco than they did about Italy; and perhaps as little about their own province in Morocco.
Signor Morteo showed them a photograph of his wife, saying, “Allow me to present my wife.”
They looked and looked at it with much complacency, and then asked in one voice, “And the others?” Either they did not know, or had forgotten, that we unhappy Christians are limited to one.
That night there was no possibility of sleep. The hens clucked, the dogs barked, the sheep bleated, the horses neighed, the sentinels sang, the water-sellers tinkled their bells, the soldiers quarrelled over the muna, the servants tumbled over the tent cords; the camp was like a market-place. But we had only four more days to travel, and—a magic word of consolation—Fez!
The Camel Conveyance.
CHAPTER IX.
ZEGUTA.
We started for Zeguta at an early hour in the morning, cheered by the thought that that day we should see the mountains of Fez. A light autumnal breeze was blowing, and a slight mist veiled the prospect. A throng of Arabs muffled in their mantles looked on as we left the camp; the soldiers of the escort kept together in a compact body; the children of the duar watched us with sleepy eyes over the hedges and from the tents. But soon the sun shone out, the horsemen scattered, the air resounded with shots and yells, every thing became full of color, light, and animation, and immediately, as happens in that country, to the chill of autumn succeeded the ardent heat of summer.