The heavy bolt is drawn, and the door swings on its hinges during a
volley and counter-volley of inquiries, congratulations, and thanks to
God, accompanied by the most graceful bows, the mutual touching and
kissing of finger-tips, and the placing of hands on hearts. As these
exercises slacken, your host advances to the inner door, and possibly
disappears through it, closing it carefully behind him. You hear his
stentorian voice commanding, "_Amel trek!_"--"Make way!"--and this is
followed by a scuffle of feet which tells you he is being obeyed. Not
a female form will be in sight by the time your host returns to lead
you in by the hand with a thousand welcomes, entreating you to make
yourself at home.

The passage is constructed with a double turn, so that you could not
look, if you would, from the roadway into the courtyard which you now
enter. If one of the better-class houses, the floor will be paved with
marble or glazed mosaics, and in the centre will stand a bubbling
fountain. Round the sides is a colonnade supporting the first-floor
landing, reached by a narrow stairway in the corner. Above is the
deep-blue sky, obscured, perhaps, by the grateful shade of fig or
orange boughs, or a vine on a trellis, under which the people live.
The walls, if not tiled, are whitewashed, and often beautifully
decorated in plaster mauresques. In the centre of three of the four
sides are huge horseshoe-arched doorways, two of which will probably
be closed by cotton curtains. These suffice to ensure the strictest
privacy within, as no one would dream of approaching within a couple
of yards of a room with the curtain down, till leave had been asked
and obtained.

You are led into the remaining room, the guest-chamber, and the
curtain over the entrance is lowered. You may not now venture to rise