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 young Hyacinthe's arm. "Algerian—a very fine one. I've seen one like it at Sidi Okba."

"Sidi Okba?" Ogle murmured, a little irritated by Macklyn's superiority as a traveller. "You have? At Sidi Okba?" Then he divined why Mme. Momoro and her son had come to a halt beside them;—they were looking over the room to discover vacant chairs. He rose impulsively. "Madame," he said. "Madame" He blushed, struggling for French words. "Madame—ah—chaise—chaise ici"

"Ne vous dérangez pas, messieurs," she said in her rich and thrilling voice; for the two other young men had jumped up, also.

"Mais, madame, nous n'avons pas encore besoin de ces chaises," Macklyn said, bowing. "Nous partons toute de suite. Je vous prie"

She inclined her head gravely. "You are very kind. Thank you," she said, with a little sibilance, almost as if she said, "Tsank you." Her son murmured the same words, and the little episode in gallantry closed with three solemn bows delivered almost in concert and in the foreign manner felt to be appropriate by the three knightly Americans. When they had departed, as they straightway scrupulously