tous road, reminded the playwright of exotic ballets with clamorous scarlets and yellows and sea-greens tossing against a back-drop of luminous blue.
He spoke to Mme. Momoro of this resemblance, and added: "The way they look at us isn't very like the smile of the ballet, however. It seems to me I've never had so many hard looks in my life as I have since I came among these Mohammedan peoples."
"Yes," she said. "They mistake us for Christians, you see."
"Certainly you're one," he retorted with some sharpness, "since you refuse to marry again."
She laughed. "I have not boasted to you of any invitations, have I?" Then, rather hurriedly, she returned to the less personal topic he had introduced. "For myself, I like their hard glances. It gives me a sense of freedom to be among people who absolve one of all responsibility to be polite to them; they so openly look upon us as strange, bad animals. Yet of course it must be a little surprising to you to have women staring at you with the expression of these Kabyle ladies, as if you were not a charming young man but a wild rabbit they might devour but would never pet."
