I moved my legs about and suddenly, to my astonishment, discovered that my feet were hanging in space. I peered down and perceived water and mud splashing all round me, and realized that the bottom of the car had fallen out. Visions of the pantomime gentleman whose carriage loses its floor and who is obliged to run between the wheels, sprang before me. And I saw myself and Madani being precipitated on to the road and having to run wildly back to Chellala, unable to make the chauffeur hear our cries of distress. However, this catastrophe did not take place, for the simple reason that the car suddenly stopped of its own accord. We all got out again. No one seemed to dare to ask what the matter was. _“Ma kanch petrol,”_ said the chauffeur calmly. “No more petrol!” exclaimed the _bash agha_ nervously. It was the first time during the whole of the proceedings that he had shown any emotion. _“Ma kanch,”_ repeated the driver. No one spoke. I heard Madani murmuring _“Mektoub,”_ but otherwise there was silence as we stood there in the driving rain watching the car. Then suddenly the _bash agha_ said, as if to the skies, “I pray Allah that it is raining like this in the Tell; my brother’s crops have sore need of rain.” _“Inch Allah,”_ they all said. It filled me with amazement. I had before me the complete abstraction of immediate discomfort, the unaccountable Oriental mind, praying to Allah, miles from anywhere, soaked to the skin, and with no means of getting home. I thought of my English friends and their attitude and thoughts on such an occasion. However, it was no good standing in contemplation. “Well, what do you propose doing?” I ventured at last. “I am getting cold.” “I don’t know,” replied the old man, brushing drops of rain off his beard. “What do you think, my friend?” “To my mind the only possible thing to do is to walk back before it gets too dark,” I said. “But the rain,” said the _kadi_, “and the mud, and the wind!” “A little rain and wind more or less never did me any harm,” I replied; “though perhaps I am more used to it than you.” “Of course, he is right,” said Madani. “We will leave the chauffeur with the car and we’ll be in Chellala before six.” “Come on,” said the Caïd Ali. “I know a short cut across the hills which will reduce our journey by at least a third.” The _kadi_ started murmuring again, but seeing that the _bash agha_ agreed to this proposal, he felt that he could not let an old man of seventy do what he feared to do, so he reluctantly followed us. In single file we started across the waste of water and tufts of alfa.