The following day was market-day at Burdeau, some thirty kilometers away, so that every one was astir at dawn, and before sunrise every male member of the household had piled into the cars and we were speeding across the cereal plain which overlooks the Sersou. All the aghas and caïds of the district as well as those from the south were there, and there was much kissing and shaking of hands.
I saw here another curious example of the respect of the younger generation for the older. I wanted my breakfast, so I went into a café with the caïd; my partner and I ordered our coffee. It was just being brought when up jumped the caïd and went off into the street. I followed anxiously, and to my surprise he went into the café opposite, where he ordered the same collation. This time it was actually brought and set on the table, when like a flash my companion was up again and outside before I could speak.
I caught him up and saw that he was making for the original café.
“Hi!” I cried, “what’s all this about? Is it a game? Why can’t we eat in peace? I’m hungry.”
“Didn’t you notice?” he asked calmly.
“Notice what?” I asked.
“My uncle, the bash agha of the Larbas.”
“No, I can’t say I did,” I replied, “but what of it?”
“He came into the first café when I was sitting there, and I couldn’t remain; and then just as I had settled in the next, he came in there too.”
“And I suppose we shall go on chasing round Burdeau till the old gentleman settles or until we die of hunger,” I laughed back. “No, mon vieux, I’m hungry, and I won’t starve for any one.”