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Updated: June 12, 2025
Her delightful naturalness, her pleasure, her almost boyish gaiety, her simplicity, her humor took him captive for the moment. She explained that she had left her companions and stolen away to enjoy Constantine alone. "And now I'm interrupting you. But you must forgive me just for this one night!" Through Amor, who acted as interpreter, she carried on a lively intercourse with Said Hitani.
He had two flutes on which he played alternately "Mousou et Madame," he called them. And he knew, so he declared, over a hundred songs. Mrs. Shiffney, speaking to him always through Amor, told him of London, and what a sensation he and his companions would make there in the décor of a Moorish café. Said Hitani pulled his little gray beard with his delicate hands, swayed to and fro, and smiled.
But he is fond of music; he " "It is Aloui's Englishman," interrupted Amor, calmly. "Where does he go at night? He's a friend of mine. I should like to meet him." "He might be with Said Hitani." "Where is that?" "If madame does not mind a little walk " "Take me there. Is it far?" "It is on the edge of the town, close to the wall. When Said Hitani plays he likes to go there. He is growing old.
Several instruments combined to make it, but the voice of a flute was dominant among them. Light, sweet, delicate, it came to her in the night like a personality full of odd magic, full of small and subtle surprises, intricate, gay, and sad. "Said Hitani!" she said. "He's delicious! Take me to him, Amor." She knew at once that he was the flute-player.
The other musicians smiled, but seldom spoke, and only among themselves. But Said Hitani, the great artist of his native city, a man famous far and wide among the Arabs, was infinitely diverting and descriptive in talk even as when he gave himself to the flute. With an animation that was youthful he described the meaning of each new song.
"No, the rug!" she said. And, despite her bulk, she sank down with a swift ease that was almost Oriental. "Now please introduce me to Said Hitani!" Till late in the night she stayed between the blue-green walls, listening to the vehement voices and to the instruments, following all the strange journeys of Said Hitani's flute. She was genuinely fascinated, and this fact made her fascinating.
Now she listened, waited, remembering her visits to Mullion House, the night in the café by the city wall when Said Hitani and his Arabs played, the hour of sun in the pine wood above the great ravine, other hours in New York.
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