The morning after my arrival in Fez I encountered my American companion of the voyage. Our meeting was a strange one. I had rambled aimlessly with my guide through the new town into the old until I had lighted by chance upon the slave market in front of the ruins of the ancient Grand Mosque, and upon a human auction which was then proceeding. No scene so full of shame had I ever beheld, but the fascination of the spectacle held me, and I stood and watched and listened. The slave being sold was a black girl, and she was beautiful according to the standard of her skin, bareheaded, barefooted, and clad as lightly over her body as decency allowed, so as to reveal the utmost of her charms. "Now, brothers," cried the salesman, "look, see" (pinching the girl's naked arms and rolling his jeweled fingers from her chin downward over her bare neck on to her bosom), "sound of wind and limb, and with rosy lips, fit for the kisses of a king--how much?" "A hundred dollars," cried a voice out of the crowd. I thought I had heard the voice before, and looked up to see who had spoken. It was a tall man with haik over his turban, and blue selam on top of a yellow kaftan. "A hundred dollars offered," cried the salesman, "only a hundred. Brothers, now's the chance for all true believers." "A hundred and five," cried another voice. "A hundred and ten." "A hundred and fifteen." "A hundred and fifteen for this jewel of a girl," cried the salesman. "It's giving her away, brothers. By the prophets, if you are not quick I'll keep her for myself. Come, look at her, Sidi. Isn't she good enough for a sultan? The Prophet (God rest him) would have leaped at her. He loved sweet women as much as he loved sweet odors. Now, for the third and last time--how much? Remember, I guarantee her seventeen years of age, sound, strong, plump, and sweet." "A hundred and twenty," cried the voice I had heard first. I looked up at the speaker again. It was the American in his Moorish costume. I could bear no more of the sickening spectacle, and as I turned aside with my interpreter, I was conscious that my companion of the voyage was following me. When we came to some dark arches that divided Old Fez from New Fez the American spoke, and I sent my interpreter ahead. "You see I am giving myself full tether in this execrable land," he said. "Indeed you are," I answered. "Well, as the Romans in Rome, you know--it was what I came for," he said. "Take care," I replied. "Take care." He drew up shortly and said, "By the way, I ought to be ashamed to meet you." I thought he ought, but for courtesy I asked him why. "Because," he said, "I have failed to act up to my principles." "In what?" I inquired. "In saving the life of a scoundrel at the risk of my own," he answered.