As late as 1877, Mr. Rae was assailed with threats and abuse on somewhat rashly endeavouring to survey the circuit of the city walls; and when, in 1880, an Italian lady first appeared in their midst, the inhabitants told her in no measured language “to cover her face,” but these days of intolerance were soon to end. In April 1881, Lord and Lady Bective journeyed to Kairwán; and although they only saw the streets and exteriors of buildings, the remembrance of Lady Bective’s graceful and kindly sympathy still survives in the hearts of the Kairwánis, who about then for the first time began to hear the dark rumours of an approaching French invasion of their country. [Illustration: THE COUNTESS OF BECTIVE, IN AN ARAB COSTUME. Reproduction by Maclure & Macdonald.] The chief men of Kairwán hastened to take Lord Bective into their confidence and entreated him to put the case of the Arabs before the Queen and “the justice of the English nation,” and even the Moorish ladies, in the deep recesses of their lattice-windowed cages, clung to Lady Bective and implored her to save them from the coming storm. “If you tell us to fight,” said one of the Zlass chiefs to Lord Bective, “we would only let the French come to the tomb of Sidi es Saheb over our bodies, but your English Consul says we are to be quiet and all will be well, we shall therefore trust to you and receive the French as brothers.” The old Governor did his best to entertain his guests with music and _fantasia_, but his heart and the heart of the people were far away with their brethren in Khamír-land. When at last Lord Bective and his wife left the Tanners’ Gate on their return to Susa, they were followed far on their road by a crowd of the citizens, who again and again asked them to remember their message to the Queen.