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"The Princess may wear it here, in Tunis," he replied. "Not elsewhere." She began to temporise, hoping to conquer his resistance later. "I may take it with me now?" she asked. "At a fee." "I will pay it." The jewel doctor went to the door, and called in Abdul. Five minutes later the Princess passed the singing Arab at the corner of the street, Rue Ben-Ziad.

This latter is the Princess's personal attendant during her yearly visit to Tunis. He accompanies her everywhere, may be seen in the hall of her hotel when she is at home, on the box of her carriage when she drives out, close behind her when she is walking. He is her shadow in Africa. Only when she goes back to Russia does he return to his profession in the Rue Ben-Ziad.

They still ached, and her temples were throbbing furiously. "I cannot stay here," she said. "It is too hot. But tell the jewel doctor that I wish to visit him. Where does he live?" "In a little street, Rue Ben-Ziad, in a little house. But he is rich." Abdul spread his arms abroad. "When will the gracious Princess ?" "This afternoon. At at four o'clock you will take me."

What that accident was, and why she is so passionately attached to Tunis, nobody in Russia seems to know, not even her doting husband, who bows to all her caprices. But two persons could explain the matter a Tunisian guide named Abdul, and a rather mysterious individual who follows a humble calling in the Rue Ben-Ziad, close to the Tunis bazaars.