Some time after my arrival at Teniet-el-Haad my husband and I, together with our first lieutenant and his wife, were invited to a “diffa” given in our honour by a Caid named Si Benrajah. [Illustration: THE FRINGE OF THE DESERT. _From a Photograph._] He most politely sent his wagonette to fetch us and was at the door of his house to receive us. He was a tall, good-looking man, and his costume was exquisite. His _serronal_, or wide trousers, were of pale-grey satin cloth, the large pockets on each side richly embroidered in silk braid of the same shade. Silver lace covered his short bolero, which opened over a shirt which was a mass of green and red silk, gold and silver embroidery. Over that again he wore a lovely white silk “haik,” which, covering his head-dress and kept in place by the “camel cords,” fell round his shoulders, and was then caught up in front from the knee to the gold waistbelt by a cerise coloured silk handkerchief. Over his shoulders hung his burnous, the outer one of fine grey cloth to match the costume, handsomely embroidered at the corners and round the hood, the under one of fine white flannel. He led us majestically into his “drawing-room”--which, alas! bore unmistakable traces of the Caid’s various journeys to Paris. There was nothing Arab but the lovely carpets and the smell. A rickety Louis XV. _canapé_, with chairs to match, stood stiffly against the walls; their coverings of chintz badly wanted washing. An oval table, a walnutwood wardrobe, a washing-stand without the accessories, and two big mirrors, whose frames had once been gilded, completed the furniture. We here partook of refreshments in the unromantic shape of absinthe and lemonade, accompanied by Huntley and Palmer’s biscuits and wafers. I was much disappointed, for I had hoped to see something more Arab and to eat and drink according to the customs of the land. I supposed this was “progress” in Benrajah’s idea; at any rate, he looked most satisfied with himself and his surroundings. He introduced another Caid to us--the Caid of Biskra, I think, who was passing through--a fine, handsome man, whose photograph is here reproduced. [Illustration: THE CAID OF BISKRA. [_From a Photograph._]] We breakfasted in a large tent, as Benrajah said it was still too warm in the house. Remembering the close, “camelly” sort of smell, I quite agreed with him. As we entered the tent Mme. G----, the lieutenant’s wife, whispered to me, “Now, mind you don’t refuse a single dish the Caid offers you. If you do you will mortally offend him, especially as it is the first time you break bread under his roof, and the ‘diffa’ is in your honour.” “All right,” I answered, cheerily. “Bon! bon! bon!” she cried. “Don’t forget, you _must_ eat everything he offers you.” She skipped off roaring with laughter, which, at the time, I thought very silly of her.