Tired and almost overcome with the heat, he very soon seated himself under the shade of a stunted palm, and was lighting his cigar, when a miniature caravan, consisting of six Arabs, one on horseback and the rest on camels, appeared on the scene, and, passing by him, halted behind the ruins of some old windmills, built by Mehemed-Ali, in 1815, during one of his campaigns against the Wahabees in El-Hejaz. One of these Bedouins, he with the horse, separated himself from his comrades, rode round the mill, and then dismounted and brought himself to anchor about fifty yards from M. de Morin. The latter at once took out his drawing materials, and made a rapid sketch of the new comer, whose costume appeared to his inexperienced eyes most picturesque. A brown and white striped bûrnus, rather the worse for wear, covered the whole of his body; a camel's hair cord held round his head a black cotton handkerchief which served him as a turban; in one hand he held a match-lock, and in the other a lance, whilst a long knife hung by a piece of string from his girdle. The young painter had completed his sketch, and was putting away his pencils, when suddenly he heard a shout. He turned quickly round and looked for Joseph and Ali, but neither of them was in sight. Alarmed at their absence, he was preparing to run in the direction of the mill, which doubtless hid his companions from him, when the interpreter appeared. He seemed to be in a state of despair, raised his hands towards Heaven, and entered into an animated conversation with the Bedouin, whose costume the painter had just succeeded in transferring to his sketch-book. M. de Morin hurried to him, and soon learnt all that had occurred. Whilst his master was sketching, Joseph, curious, no doubt, to know if, on account of his bûrnus, the Arabs would take him for one of themselves, approached them with a smiling air. But very soon his smiling face grew dark, with anger, his eyes, which had been wandering over the scene, fixed themselves on one particular spot, his arm was gradually extended to its full length, and his finger pointed to something or other in front of him. On the back of one of the camels he had just perceived the greater part of the baggage stolen from the custom-house at Suez. Not only did he recognize his favourite portmanteau, but he read on one of packages the name he had himself traced upon it in Paris—Mohammed-Abd-el-Gazal. He had found the thief at last! Unwilling to let him escape he rushed forward towards the Bedouins, but the group thus formed by Joseph, the camels, and their owners was hidden from M. de Morin by the ruins of the mill, and the young painter, absorbed in his sketch, had neither seen nor heard anything. "My baggage! my baggage!" cried Joseph. "Give me up my baggage, you thieves!"