Accordingly, the next day, Cohen told me a
friend of the Emperor's was anxious to have some conversation with me,
and he begged me to take with me the Address.
It was past ten at night, when alone, with my Moorish guide, I found
myself treading the long narrow streets of Mogador.
The wind howled and the watch-dogs barked; it was so dark that we could
scarcely grope our way, no human being was about; we went up one street
and down another, stealing along our way; as if on some house-breaking
expedition; and I began to feel suspicious, fearing a trap might be laid
for me. Still, I had confidence in the honour of the Moors, I said to my
guide.
"When shall we reach your master's?"
_Guide_. - "God knows; be quiet!"
We continued going through street after street. It was now bitter cold,
and a few drops of rain fell from the cutting wing of the north wind.
To my Guide again.
"Where is the house?"
_Guide_. - "Follow me, don't talk!" After we had passed other streets,
"Is this the street?"
_Guide_. - "Eskut!
