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Away yonder, on the spurs and tops of the hills, the green sea-pines seemed to pierce the transparent air; in the Cabash old, dreamy Arabian legends, poetic as Hafiz, seem still to linger here and there under the foliage of hanging gardens or the picturesque curves of broken terraces; in the distance the brown, rugged Kabyl mountains lay like a couched camel, and far off against the golden haze a single palm rose, at a few rare intervals, with its drooped, curled leaves, as though to recall, amid the shame of foreign domination, that this was once the home of Hannibal; the Africa that had made Rome tremble.
There were five card-tables and twenty-five players, and eighteen dancers of both sexes. At one o'clock in the morning, all present Madame Thuillier, Mademoiselle Brigitte, Madame Phellion, even Phellion himself were dragged into the vivacities of a country-dance, vulgarly called "La Boulangere," in which Dutocq figured with a veil over his head, after the manner of the Kabyl.
It was grouped in the smallest space possible; one Kabyl was at the head, his gun ready for service; another was in the rear, in the same position. I inquired of the owner of the mule the cause of these unusual precautions.
"Loo-Loo was in fine voice to-night," said one. "Yes; she took plenty of cognac before she sang; that always clears her voice," said a second. "And I think that did her spirits good, shooting that Kabyl," said a third. "By the way, did he die?" "N'sais pas, Loo-Loo's a good aim." "Sac a papier, yes! Rire-pour-tout taught her." "Ah! There never was a shot like Rire-pour-tout.
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