marks the first sign of union among the men of the Mountain. And here is the little boy receiving his education from Master CHEIVAN.

CHEIVAN pauses to look at his pupil. His Oriental soul loves enigmas, the symbolism in which initiates, poets, and diplomats delight. The Turkish yoke has taught him to conceal his thought. The gracious hours around a basin where a jet of water sings have given him the leisure to meditate on the tangled meanings of words, and it is this science of mature men that he wants to make known to the child seated at his feet, squatting like him on the same mat.

— Do not forget, O my son, that sympathy must be your strength. The strength of the Chief comes from the love of the humble. Tolerance will be the condition of union. The country belongs to each of us. Maronites, Muslims, Druzes — we are all attached to the same soil, different and yet united like the five fingers of the same hand. He who knows how to make himself loved by each will have the support of the whole country, something no Emir has yet been able to achieve.

For a moment Fakhreddine imagines that far-off princess TAIBE, whose fate was decided by allegories. Then he dreams of a very beautiful Emira whom he would boldly carry off, so as to triumph twice over his enemy.

Sometimes a woman dressed in dark cloth comes to attend these lessons. She keeps silent and crosses her hands under her very long sleeves. But silence and time are her allies. There are black eyes that see farther than the present hour and already smile at victory.

Jeanne Arcache "The Emir with the Cross"