The moon shone full in the heavens, and as I crossed
the Place I saw the equestrian statue of the Duke of Orleans silhouetted
against the mosque. The port, to the east, was quiet at this hour, and
the shipping lay dreamily in the moonlight. Far away one could see the
dim outlines of the Kabyle Mountains, and the vague melting of sea and
sky into a near horizon. The undefinable smell of the East was in the
air.
The Cafe de Bordeaux, which forms an angle of the Place, blazed in front
of me. A few hardy souls, a Zouave or two, an Arab, a bored Englishman
and his wife, and some French inhabitants were sitting outside in the
chilliness. I entered. The cafe was filled with a nondescript crowd, and
the rattle of dominoes rose above the hum of talk. In a corner near the
door I discovered the top of a silk hat projecting above a widely opened
newspaper grasped by two pudgy hands, and I recognised the Professor.
"Monsieur," said he, when I had taken a seat at his table, "if the
unknown terrors which you are going to confront dismay you, I beg that
you will not consider yourself bound to me.
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