HAÏDAR Bey does not carry the chaplet, which so many Orientals are always counting, in order to check the temptation to smoke, but I noticed he was clenching a piece of wax. “He’s training his muscles,” laughed the colonel. “Brigands, you know, have to keep themselves very fit!” He seemed to me, as a matter of fact, to have suffered more, physically, from the allied occupation than anyone else I met, except Essad Pasha, the celebrated oculist, obviously destined for constant pain to the end of his days. HAÏDAR Bey had sworn he would never again speak to an Englishman on account of our officers’ treatment of his mother. I could only assure him, with all the earnestness at my command, that the people of England abominated every form of personal cruelty; and that one day, when the facts were known, we should officially apologise, as I now privately expressed my horror and shame. His response was characteristic of these generous people! He arranged for me a really charming little supper-party; making graceful allusions to England as she was before the war; and as, since my visit, he had decided to think of her ... “I will only remember the occupation as a hideous nightmare!” I could sincerely say I had enjoyed every minute of the evening, from the Circassian chicken specially prepared for me, to the Oriental music and Abdul Hamid’s own cigarettes. Our host himself had graciously come for us an hour before the appointed time; a prudent gallantry, to ensure the arrival of his guests in the crowded quarter described as “near the pump, which is perhaps near the Mosque”! with neither street-name nor number to assist the traveller. Aided by sticks and lanterns, we accordingly prepared to face the dangers of the way. It was impossible to hear oneself speak in the biting wind; and our host, with his “lantern under thy feet,” as the Bible calls it, was fully occupied in guiding us away from big stones and wide holes. We were glad to reach his dimly-lighted room; over-heated, indeed, to Western ideas; and sink into the cushioned divans covered with his priceless rugs. The _mézé_, or meal of hors d’œuvres, was served the moment we arrived, with dainty dishes of fruit, cheese and olives.