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idea, did they know of a cheap hotel? Everybody knew of one and it looked as if there was really going to bea fight. It was Pierre who settled the problem. It was decided that we would stay at the Hôtel de la Gare. He proposed to write a letter to the patronne, with whom he was on very good terms, so paper and pencil were produced and Pierre, in the midst of an impressive silence, was permitted to compose his letter. We had been doubtful as to whether we could afford to stop in Tunis. However, if we could get a room at this hotel for six francs a night. Pierre’s performance was acclaimed as a masterpiece. Introduced by such a letter Madame the patronne was not apt to overcharge us. We had definitely made up our minds to stay awhile in Tunis when Pierre put his mouth to my ear and whispered ‘You will leave your door open a little crack?’ My heart sank. ‘Don’t you think,’ I said to Beatrice as casually as I could, ‘that we’d better go right down to Kairouan?’
    She looked at me. ‘We’ll try to make the boat-train.’
    Late that night as we stood near the bulwark we were both conscious of a new quality in the air – a marvellous softness and – or did we only imagine it – a perfume, ‘a soul-dissolving odour, to invite to some more lovely mystery?’ The sky was peopled with multitudes of stars, Sardinia had fallen behind us, across the calm black waters there was not the dimmest light to indicate how near we were to land. And yet, it was long after midnight, and at dawn we would be in Africa.

CHAPTER 2
Introduction to Kairouan
    I T WAS STILL QUITE DARK when the Général Grévy entered the Goletta Canal and the shore lights far ahead were indistinguishable from the stars. The quiet deck had been plunged into feverish activity, we had ceased to exist for the seamen scuttling to and fro, and I felt a vague regret that our passage was over.
    The stars went out, the sky paled perceptibly, from the dark pile beyond the twinkling harbour definite forms began to emerge – ample domes, turrets, and the tall fronds of palm trees. Colour suffused the east, twilight shimmered upon the water, presently the sun came up from the sea and we drifted into the dissonant roar of the harbour. It seemed wonderfully fitting to me that we should land at daybreak. I was terribly conscious, as we waited among our luggage, that a period had been affixed to the life that I had known. A line from Wordsworth kept chasing through my thoughts, ‘I made no vows, but vows were then made for me.’ That gang-plank, down which the first-class passengers were already filing, was all that bridged the past. It looked so easy – ten short steps to a new world, a new epoch. I marvelled the thing could be done so casually. A poke in the ribs put an end to dramatization. ‘Hey, wake up!’ said Beatrice. ‘Where’s your passport?’
    ‘ Américaines? ’ The immigration official barely glanced at our passports and waved us on. Fezzed porters were swarming the deck, a troop of them fell to haggling over our luggage, in the end each seized a part of our belongings and bumped us down the gang-plank. ‘We’ve got exactly twenty-two minutes to pass the customs and make that train!’ Beatrice warned over her shoulder.
    We landed in such a raucous rabble of porters, hotel-scouts, guides,and beggars that we were obliged to fight our way into the building. After rounding up our baggage we hung around in an agonized sweat while the officials made their leisurely examination. With nine minutes left us we tumbled into a lop-sided victoria and simply tore to the station, and as the train pulled out the last of our bags was thrown through the window.
    Battered, exhausted, we sank back, too relieved to care much whether or not we had all our luggage. ‘Was your virginity worth it?’ grinned Beatrice, pulling off her beret to mop her brow.
    There was plenty of room on the benches, but most of the passengers preferred the aisle. They sat in tight