He was no grave, handsome Arab, looking as if he had stepped from the
pages of the "Arabian Nights," but a kind of little brown monster with
an overhanging forehead and ugly, scanty hair.
He lay upon the table, screaming, because his abdomen was very painful
and his hip was all tumefied. What could we say to him? He could
understand nothing; he was strange, terrified, pitiable....
At my wits' ends, I took out a cigarette and placed it between his lips.
His whole face changed. He took hold of the cigarette delicately between
two bony fingers; he had a way of holding it which was a marvel of
aristocratic elegance.
While we finished the dressing, the poor fellow smoked slowly and
gravely, with all the distinction of an Oriental prince; then, with a
negligent gesture, he threw away the cigarette, of which he had only
smoked half.
Presently, suddenly becoming an animal, he spit upon my apron, and
kissed my hand like a dog, repeating something which sounded like
"Bouia! Bouia!"