Near the huts she passed a group of dark-looking men jordan heels in long white jellabs, and wondered which of these was the famous Muley. One she noticed with a particularly negro type of face, wore on his flowing robe the scarlet ribbon of the Legion of Honour. Somehow or other he did not seem interesting enough to be Muley, she thought as she went on to a strip of beach.
     A man was standing on the sea shore, a tall, commanding man, gazing out it seemed across the sunlit ocean as though he were in search cheap Chanel bags of something. He could not have heard her footfall because she was walking on the sand, and yet he must have realised her presence, for he turned, and she almost stopped at the sight of his face. He might have been a European; his complexion was fair, though his eyebrows and eyes were jet black, as also was the tiny beard and moustache he wore. Beneath the conventional jellab he wore a dark green jacket, and she had a glimpse of glittering decorations before Cheap Louis Vuitton Bags he pulled over his cloak so that they were hidden. But it was his eyes which held her. They were large and as black as night, and they were set in a face of such strength and dignity that Jean knew instinctively that she was looking upon the Moorish Pretender.
     They stood for a second staring at one another, and then the Moor stepped aside.
     "Pardon," he said in French, "I am afraid I startled you."
     Jean was breathing a little quicker. She could not remember in Jordan Heels her life any man who had created so immediate and favourable an impression. She forgot her contempt for native people, forgot his race, his religion (and religion was a big thing to Jean), forgot everything except that behind those eyes she recognised something which was kin to her.
     "You are English, of course," he said in that language.
     "Scottish," smiled Jean.
     "It is almost the same, isn't it?" He spoke without any trace of an accent, without an error of grammar, and his voice was the voice Birkenstock Outlet of a college man.
     He had left the way open for her to pass on, but she lingered.
     "You are Muley Hafiz, aren't you?" she asked, and he turned his head. "I've read a great deal about you," she added, though in truth she had read nothing.
     He laughed, showing two rows of perfect white teeth. It was only by contrast with their whiteness that she noticed the golden brown of his complexion.