Gregorio took very little notice of the scenes through which he passed.  He knew every inch and corner of the quarter that had been his home for years, and was familiar with most of its inhabitants.  He sighed a little as he thought of the money being lost and won in the stuffy ill-lighted rooms at the back of the houses, shut out from view of the authorities.  Like most of his race, he was fond of the excitement of gambling.  But of what use were regrets and sighs? he had no money, and must needs go home.  It was vain to try and borrow or to ask credit for his losses; in these gambling hells what is lost must be immediately paid, for tempers are inflamed by drink and knives are worn at each player’s belt.

But he sighed, none the less, at the hard necessity that compelled him to pass down the street without once entering the doors of a tavern.  It was very hot, and he had smoked many cigarettes.  He would have been glad to call for a drink.  The tavern-keepers, though they were his friends, expected to be paid.  One or two women beckoned to him, who would have willingly offered him wine, but he was proud enough to ignore them.

He became more moody and dejected as he went along, silent and sober amid so much revelry.  When he reached his house he saw a drunken man lying on the threshold asleep.  He stooped to look into his face and recognised an Englishman, the foreman of some tramp in the harbour.  He kicked the recumbent form testily as he strode over it.

“These English, what beasts they are!” he growled, “and I—­I have not a piastre for a single glass of wine.”

II—­CONCERNING A DEBT

Gregorio found, on entering his house, that his wife was already in bed.  He went into the tiny kitchen and saw a plate of macaroni ready for his supper.  He tried to eat some, but it stuck in his throat.  He took a bottle of cheap Cretan wine from a shelf and drank from it; but the wine was sour, and he spat it from his mouth with a curse.

Taking up the lamp, he went into the bedroom.  His wife was fast asleep with the boy in her arms.  For a moment a smile flickered round Gregorio’s mouth as he looked at them.  Then he took off his boots and his coat, blew out the lamp, and lay beside them.  He was very tired after his long tramp in the hot streets, but he could not sleep.  Angrily he tossed from side to side and closed his eyes tightly; but it was no good, sleep would not come.

At midnight he heard a call to prayer chanted from the minaret of a tiny mosque in the neighbourhood.  The muezzin’s voice irritated him.  He did not wish to pray, and he did want to sleep.  He swore that it was insanity for these fools of Mohammedans to declare that prayer was better than sleep.

Then the thoughts that had agitated him during the walk returned to him.  The Rue des Soeurs was still noisy with merry-makers, and it seemed to him that if he could only join them he would be happy.  But he had no money, and one can do nothing without money!