When I came to myself again, nothing remained of our home but a smoking
ruin, upon which the _touloumbad jis_ were still throwing water. The
neighbours and a crowd of other people were watching the fire finish its
work. Not very far away from me, among the spectators, I recognised
Mourad-bey, standing in the midst of a little group of friends.
His face was perfectly livid, and his eyes were wild with grief. I saw
him pick up a burning splinter from the wreck of his home, where he
believed all that he loved had perished. He offered it to his friend,
who was lighting his cigarette, and said, bitterly, "This is the only
hospitality I have now to offer!"
The tone of his voice startled me--it was full of utter despair, and I
saw that his lips quivered as he spoke.