And a magnificent personage, wearing the Legion of Honor on his white bournous, entered the room. Every one turned to look at him. He was a magnificent looking Arab. With a gravity that was truly oriental, and with his face half concealed in the folds of his mantle, his brown hands folded on his breast, Mohammed-Ben-Omar advanced.
Laisangy went forward to meet him. In fact, he could hardly believe in his good fortune. Mohammed-Ben-Omar belonged to that class of Algerians who, listening to the counsel of French financiers, always cherished the project of making Algeria into a veritable El Dorado, and had now come to France to lend the support of his name and authority to some one of the speculations built on the sands of the desert, of which the Tuileries people were so fond.
Laisangy, learning of his arrival in Paris, had hastened to send him an invitation, but had hardly hoped to see him. He was, therefore, more than usually civil.
Ben-Omar replied to his courtesies only by carrying his hand to his heart and then to his forehead, in the recognized Mussulman manner. He did not speak one word of French, and yet, when Carmen passed, he said "Beautiful!" with a guttural intonation.
"My daughter, sir!" answered the banker, with pride.
"Beautiful! beautiful!" repeated the Mohammedan.
Laisangy signed to Omar to accompany him to the group where Carmen was talking. There he went through the ceremony of introduction. Then, leaning toward her, Omar said, under his breath:
"I come from Goutran. Allah il Allah!" he added, aloud.
Carmen started. Never was she so astonished. The name of Goutran from these lips was like lightning from a clear sky. She looked at the Arab's bronze face and his huge moustache.
"Take His Excellency's arm," said Laisangy, "and show him the gallery and statuary."