But a Frenchman’s wounded dignity is not so easily appeased.  Monsieur Fardet sat moodily with his back against the palm-tree, and his black brows drawn down.  He said nothing, but he still pulled at his thick, strong moustache.

“Come on, Fardet!  We depend upon you,” said Belmont.

“Let Colonel Cochrane do it,” the Frenchman answered snappishly.  “He takes too much upon himself this Colonel Cochrane.”

“There!  There!” said Belmont soothingly, as if he were speaking to a fractious child.  “I am quite sure that the Colonel will express his regret at what has happened, and will acknowledge that he was in the wrong—­”

“I’ll do nothing of the sort,” snapped the Colonel.

“Besides, that is merely a personal quarrel,” Belmont continued hastily.  “It is for the good of the whole party that we wish you to speak with the Moolah, because we all feel that you are the best man for the job.”

But the Frenchman only shrugged his shoulders and relapsed into a deeper gloom.

The Moolah looked from one to the other, and the kindly expression began to fade away from his large, baggy face.  His mouth drew down at the corners, and became hard and severe.

“Have these infidels been playing with us, then?” said he to the dragoman.  “Why is it that they talk among themselves and have nothing to say to me?”

“He’s getting impatient about it,” said Cochrane.  “Perhaps I had better do what I can, Belmont, since this damned fellow has left us in the lurch.”

But the ready wit of a woman saved the situation.

“I am sure, Monsieur Fardet,” said Mrs. Belmont, “that you, who are a Frenchman, and therefore a man of gallantry and honour, would not permit your own wounded feelings to interfere with the fulfilment of your promise and your duty towards three helpless ladies.”

Fardet was on his feet in an instant, with his hand over his heart.

“You understand my nature, madame,” he cried.  “I am incapable of abandoning a lady.  I will do all that I can in this matter.  Now, Mansoor, you may tell the holy man that I am ready to discuss through you the high matters of his faith with him.”

And he did it with an ingenuity which amazed his companions.  He took the tone of a man who is strongly attracted, and yet has one single remaining shred of doubt to hold him back.  Yet as that one shred was torn away by the Moolah, there was always some other stubborn little point which prevented his absolute acceptance of the faith of Islam.  And his questions were all so mixed up with personal compliments to the priest and self-congratulations that they should have come under the teachings of so wise a man and so profound a theologian, that the hanging pouches under the Moolah’s eyes quivered with his satisfaction, and he was led happily and hopefully onwards from explanation to explanation, while the blue overhead turned into violet, and the green leaves into black, until the great serene stars shone out once more between the crowns of the palm-trees.