His chauffeur got into the car, the old gentleman got in beside him. The Caïd Madani motioned me to get in behind, the Caïd Madani got in after me, the Caïd Aïssa got in after the Caïd Madani, the Sheik Marhoun got in after the Caïd Aïssa, the _kadi_ got in after the Sheik Marhoun. The Caïd Ali said, “I don’t think I shall come, there isn’t much room left.” All the others protested, so he got in too. The Caïd Mohamed categorically refused to make a ninth. The _bash agha_ turned round and said, “Well, I think we are all here. Let us start.” The car moved off. At the entrance of the town the Sheik Marhoun said, “Do you think that we’ve got enough petrol to get there and back?” _“Inch Allah,”_ replied the chauffeur. The _kadi_, who is a practical man, and who likes his comforts, interposed, “I think you had better make certain.” The chauffeur made certain and found there was enough to do about one mile down hill. We therefore returned to the town to get some. No one seemed to mind, though; my seven Arabs made no comment and remained as placid as if the filling of the petrol tank was merely a childish whim of the _kadi_. I felt certain that they were saying to themselves, “If the car lacks fuel, Allah will surely provide.” I said to the _kadi_, “Lucky you thought of asking.” He smiled benignly. I love the _kadi_. He is a charming person. He is the Mohammedan Judge of Chellala, and he looks like an early Victorian Englishman: fair beard, very white skin, a slightly rubicund nose, clear blue eyes, and long white hands. If he wore a pair of nankeen pantaloons and a choker instead of a burnous and a turban, he would be the image of what Alfred de Musset must have been in his prime. The _kadi_ has, moreover, a great sense of humor. When we had filled up, we rolled off first of all through the mountains of Chellala and then on to the great open plains which run down to the Sahara, forming some of the finest pasture-land of Algeria. My companions all chatted away to each other about their sheep-raising, their crops, their horses, their falcons, their shooting—all those things so dear to these country gentlemen. Occasionally they poked fun at the _kadi_, who is not a warrior nor a sportsman, but he always had a sharp retort which sent them into helpless laughter. Finally we arrived at Taguine and stopped for a moment at the monument which marks the place where the Duc d’Aumale’s flying column captured the whole of the Emir-el-Kader’s _smala_ in 1843 and thus broke his long resistance. This was an occasion to rain more jokes on the _kadi’s_ head, as he is a direct descendant of the great _emir_, and it was the great-uncle of the Caïd Aïssa, the loyal General Yusuf, who was in command of the native cavalry on this occasion.