El Kobir had a profound knowledge of the evil of wealth and the weariness of greatness, and he looked on Western civilization with the cynical eyes of an Eastern. Railway trains, telegraph lines, steamships, the magic that makes a voice reach London from Paris, all these things did not impress him at all; viewed against the background of the stately East they seemed like the vulgar jewellery of a _nouveau riche_. He knew quite well that the glitter surrounding a great man in Europe was only glitter, and that as far as happiness was concerned, an Arab boy playing in the streets of Sidi-bel-Abbès had, perhaps, a better chance of securing happiness than a princeling in a palace of the West. Still, the child was a European--and Fate was Fate. Days passed and nothing happened. Jacques came of an evening as usual, but not a word did he say on the all important topic, nor did the old man speak of it. He watched Jacques narrowly, but that personage showed nothing of his mind or his intentions. He seemed a bit grimmer than usual, except when Ivan was present, but one could argue nothing much from that. The grimness might be simply the expression of dissatisfaction with himself for having done nothing to further the orders of the dead Karasloff. However, a week later the bomb-shell fell. Quite early in the afternoon Jacques made his appearance at El Kobir's. "They have come for the child," said he. The old man, who was looking over some accounts, glanced up. "Ah, they have come for the child. Where are they?" "At the Hôtel d'Oran. They wanted to come here and fetch him. I told them not. I told them I would fetch him myself. You see we don't want a fuss--you had better say nothing to the child. I will just take him for a walk and leave him with them at the hotel. They seem good folk these people of his. There is a woman and a man, the grandfather and grandmother it seems. There is also our Colonel at the hotel with all the papers about Karasloff. "The grandfather is M. le Prince, but he is all the same a kind-spoken old man--the child will be happy enough. Besides, he need not know he is going away for always. Only there must be no fuss. He does not want to take any clothes with him or luggage--they will give him all that." El Kobir called his servant to bring Ivan. "Ivan," said El Kobir, "your friend has come to take you for a walk." He took the child to his side for a moment and gave him a little squeeze, then he kissed him on the forehead. Ivan clapped his hand in that of Jacques, and the pair went off, while El Kobir returned to his accounts. But the addition of figures made little way, and the eternal cigarette was unlit as he sat thinking, thinking, a hundred miles removed from the shop, from his business, from himself. He was an old man and he had lost many friends. His business was indeed the only friend left to him. Jacques had never been his friend.