The sand pattered more sharply on his eyelids.  He drew back into the cafe.  Ali followed him, and they squatted down side by side upon the ground and looked before them seriously.  The noise of the wind increased till it nearly drowned the noise of the negro’s drum.  Presently the one-eyed owner of the cafe brought them two cups of coffee, setting the cups near their stockinged feet.  They rolled two cigarettes and smoked in silence, sipping the coffee from time to time.  Then Ali began to glance towards the negro.  Half shutting his eyes, and assuming a languid expression that was almost sickly, he stretched his lips in a smile, gently moving his head from side to side.  Batouch watched him.  Presently he opened his lips and began to sing: 

“The love of women is like a date that is golden in the sun,
That is golden—­
The love of women is like a gazelle that
comes to drink—­
To drink at the water springs—­
The love of women is like the nargileh, and like the dust of
the keef
That is mingled with tobacco and with honey. 
Put the reed between thy lips, O loving man! 
And draw dreams from the haschish that is the love of women! 
Janat!  Janat!  Janat!”

The wind grew louder and sand was blown along the cafe floor and about the coffee-cups.

“The love of women is like the rose of the Caid’s garden
That is full of silver tears—­
The love of women is like the first day of the spring
When the children play at Cora—­
The love of women is like the Derbouka that has been warmed at
the fire
And gives out a sweet sound. 
Take it in thy hands, O loving man! 
And sing to the Derbouka that is the love of women. 
Janat!  Janat!  Janat!”

In the doorway, where the lamp swung from the beam, a man in European dress stood still to listen.  The wind wailed behind him and stirred his clothes.  His eyes shone in the faint light with a fierceness of emotion in which there was a joy that was almost terrible, but in which there seemed also to be something that was troubled.  When the song died away, and only the voices of the wind and the drum spoke to the darkness, he disappeared into the night.  The Arabs did not see him.

“Janat!  Janat!  Janat!”

The night drew on and the storm increased.  All the doors of the houses were closely shut.  Upon the roofs the guard dogs crouched, shivering and whining, against the earthen parapets.  The camels groaned in the fondouks, and the tufted heads of the palms swayed like the waves of the sea.  And the Sahara seemed to be lifting up its voice in a summons that was tremendous as a summons to Judgment.