They rarely saw each other, and, when they did meet, all that passed between them was a commonplace word or two, or a frigid shake of the hand. Then each one went his own way, and, avoiding the town, betook himself to the open country, and, on the banks of the White, or the Blue River, hid his sorrow in his own breast and mourned over his defeat. Dr. Delange alone preserved his liberty of mind and action, and, as the inquiring traveller, pried into every corner of Khartoum. He had enlisted into his service a faki, who, for a piastre per diem, took him all over Khartoum from morning till night, and from night till morning, and initiated him into all the mysteries of that mysterious place. One evening, his guide proposed to take him to the house of an old sorceress, or witch, of high renown throughout the district, and he gladly accepted the offer. These Egyptian women, under the protection of the authorities, to whom their various services are of great value, enjoy very extensive privileges at Khartoum, and are in constant communication with all classes of society, from the Pashas, whose harems they help to fill, to the Arabian women who go to them for medicine for their actual, and charms for their imaginary, ills. To these secret sources of employment they add others even less reputable, but equally connived at by the powers that be, one of them being the proprietorship of music and dancing halls, where the dances of the country are exhibited by a dozen or more young girls, for the most part natives of the Soudan. Into one of these dens M. Delange made his way, and, for a few piastres, witnessed an entertainment which gold would not have procured for him in any other town but Khartoum. He was shown into a spacious room furnished with low and roomy Arab lounges. The walls, painted white, were brilliant with resinous torches of great illuminating power. A door opened, and in walked the mistress of the place, a woman of about thirty, tall, thin, copper-coloured, and hard-featured. Her regular, but strange, cast of countenance, and the gold circlet, in the shape of a diadem, which decked the long bands of her plaited hair, drawn flat across her temples, made her look like some old Egyptian queen. In her hand she held a small whip, her conductor's _bâton_. After having cringingly saluted M. Delange, she squatted down in a corner, and, at a word from her, eight slaves, who had been awaiting her summons, appeared on the scene. They were enveloped in the _fezdah_, a large piece of linen fringed on both edges. At a fresh signal they laid aside this garment and appeared in the _raat_, their orthodox dancing costume, made of leather, and of somewhat scanty dimensions. They were black as ebony, but with nothing of the negro type about them—on the contrary, their noses were straight, their mouths small, and their faces oval. Their figures were perfect, and their beauty altogether was on a par with their youth.