And so we came to the house itself. Mysterious veiled figures stood motionless on the roof, like sentinels of Fate. In the gloom my hand was seized by a native woman’s, small and dry, and I was led into the house followed by my English companion. We were taken across one room, and brought to the doorway of another from whence came a hum of voices and laughter. Peering into this smaller room we saw it packed with gaily-dressed women squatting on the ground, whilst in the corner sat the bride like a waxen image. She was swathed in a robe of heavily tinselled stuff and over her head was thrown a drapery that quite hid her face. Not a soul spoke French, but we were hospitably beckoned in. It proved a matter of some difficulty to avoid stepping on the human mosaic which covered the floor but we managed it somehow and sat down in very cramped positions in places of honour close to the bride. She sat with her back against the bed, which in Arab fashion was in an alcove. So great was the throng, that our advent had pressed a small child under the bed itself, from whence first came a doleful snuffling, followed at last by a determined wail. It was as much a work of art to rescue the victim as to extract a winkle from its shell with a pin, but it was ultimately restored to the bosom of its family.
All this time the bride sat rigid and unbending as befits a modest Arab maiden. She made no sign of life, even when the woman next her raised the heavy veil for us to see her. She was a rather heavy-featured girl, her face artificially whitened, with a brilliant dab of rouge on either cheek, her forehead painted with an ornamental design in black and her eyebrows made to meet in a straight line. Her fingers had been dipped in some dark scented ointment, whilst the backs were decorated in an intricate pattern with henna and the palms dabbed here and there. Her hair was in two heavy plaits on either shoulder and she wore a coloured silk handkerchief bound over it and above that a tinselled head-dress with a long tail to it that hung down her back.
The heat in the small room was stifling. The women were all unveiled and many of them were heavily powdered and rouged, their fingers loaded with rings and wearing necklaces and earrings. Some were dressed in queer décolleté dresses reminding one of fashions of twenty years ago, with tight pointed bodices, much be-sequined and trimmed and with a kind of gilt epaulettes on the shoulders. Everyone chattered hard, small babies cried, outside the shouting and noise of drums went on, and the atmosphere grew thicker and thicker with the odour of packed humanity, scent and powder, and the sweet musty smell of garments that had been laid away in aromatic herbs. Most of the women were of a warm olive colouring, with beautiful long dark eyes, and one or two were as fair as English brunettes with a natural carnation in their cheeks.
