The spahi saluted, and went out.

The commandant turned to the little man in black.

“Why in the world,” he asked, “did you object to my harboring Abdullah?  He is my friend and yours.  He is the best man that crosses the desert.  He has eaten our salt many times.  If all here were like him, you and I might go home to France, with our medals and our pensions.”

“True,” said the lawyer, gathering his cards, “and very likely there is no risk in harboring him and his wife.”  He shuffled the cards mechanically, his eyes fixed on the opposite wall.

“My friend,” he said, at length, “whom do you consider the most powerful person in Biskra, the person to be first reckoned with?”

The commandant laughed.  “As I am in command,” he said, “I should be court-martialled if I denied my own superiority.”

“And yet,” said the lawyer, “you are only a poor second.”

The commandant, who was sitting astride of his chair, his hands upon its back, demi-vaulted as if he were in the saddle of a polo pony.

“What do you mean?” he demanded.

The lawyer kept shuffling the cards, but he paid no attention to them.

“Go to the window,” he said, “and tell me what you see.”

The commandant rose, and went to the window, his spurs jingling.  He drew the curtain and looked out.

“What do you see?” asked the counsellor.

“I see the square,” answered the commandant, “with five hundred kettle-lights, and three thousand Mussulmans gorging themselves, making up lost time.”

“Look over at the left corner,” said the lawyer.

“I see the mosque,” said the commandant, “with its lamps burning.”

“There you have it,” cried the lawyer.  “This religion that you and I are sent to conquer keeps its lamps burning constantly, while the religion that comes to conquer lights its candles only for the mass.  Mankind loves light and warmth.  What do you see now?”

“I see Mirza,” replied the commandant; “she is walking up the centre line of the fires.  Now she stops.  She meets a man, draws him hurriedly aside, and is speaking close to his ear.”

“Has he a green turban?” asked the lawyer.  “Has he been to Mecca?”

“Yes,” answered the commandant.

“There you see the most powerful person in Biskra,” said the counsellor.

“Who?” asked the commandant.  “The man in the green turban?”

“No,” said the lawyer, “the woman he is speaking to.”

“Mirza?” exclaimed the commandant.

“Yes,” said the lawyer.  “The centre of affairs, since the world was sent spinning, has always been a woman.  Who placed the primal curse of labor on the race?  Was it the man, Adam, or the woman, Eve?”

“As I remember,” said the commandant, “the serpent was the prime mover in that affair.”