Madani led, then came Ali, after him Aïssa, then the _bash agha_, then myself, and behind me the _kadi_, with Marhoun bringing up the rear. The wind blew fiercely across our path, bringing great sheets of soaking rain, but our camel’s hair burnouses kept the wet out wonderfully. Only the _kadi_, who had a kind of black woven burnous, complained that he was getting soaked. I distinctly heard Marhoun laughing in the driving rain. Gradually we approached the hills, all wrapped in mist, and descending into a habitually dry river-bed, splashed up the muddy bank. Suddenly the _kadi_ gave a yell. “I’ve lost my shoes,” he screamed. “Where?” I exclaimed. “In the mud! They got stuck and came off!” The procession stopped. Aïssa started laughing. I became perfectly helpless as I watched the wretched judge making futile dives for his slippers in the muddy torrent. At last Marhoun got the better of his mirth and managed to secure the lost property, but, as can be imagined, the elegant slippers looked like bits of old leather ready for the dust-heap. The _kadi_ began wailing again, and said he would go back, but Marhoun pushed him up the bank and he plodded on. We soon came to a goat-track and gradually began climbing the steep slopes of the hill. As we rose, the mist closed down upon us and wrapped us in its damp embrace. I could no longer see Madani, and the _bash agha_ was only a dim form before me. The _kadi_ I didn’t need to see as his wail of malediction on motor-cars and excursions, and idiots who could live out in the desert, never ceased. After an hour or so we reached the summit and gathered together in a ghostly group. “Not very far now,” said Ali gaily. “Reminds me of winter in the trenches. Eh, Aïssa?” “Yes, the Vosges,” he replied. “Not too tired, _bash agha_?” The old man shook his head and he brushed the drops from his burnous. “Well, let’s proceed,” said Madani. “We don’t want to be caught by the night.” “My shoes are full of stones,” moaned the _kadi_. “Well, take them out,” exclaimed Marhoun. Without further ado we started along the crest and soon began descending another path. The wind was less fierce on this side of the mountain, but the mist swirled like a great shroud about us. None of us spoke as we plodded on in our dripping burnouses. My mind became a sort of damp blank as I mechanically followed in the procession. Suddenly the _bash agha_ said to me over his shoulder, “What has become of Miss G., who was in Laghouat for two months this spring?” “Eh?” I said. He repeated his question. “Oh, she has gone back to Scotland,” I replied. “Why did she go?” again asked the old man. “Oh, I suppose she wanted to see her family and get back to this sort of weather,” I answered vaguely. “She was a very nice girl,” said the _bash agha_. “She was full of gaiety. I liked her.”