"You doubtless heard French spoken at times in your father's douar,"
suggested My Dear, as the most reasonable explanation.
Meriem shook her head.
"It may be," she said, "but I do not recall ever having seen
a Frenchman in my father's company--he hated them and would have
nothing whatever to do with them, and I am quite sure that I never
heard any of these words before, yet at the same time I find them
all familiar. I cannot understand it."
"Neither can I," agreed My Dear.
It was about this time that a runner brought a letter that, when
she learned the contents, filled Meriem with excitement. Visitors
were coming! A number of English ladies and gentlemen had accepted
My Dear's invitation to spend a month of hunting and exploring with
them. Meriem was all expectancy. What would these strangers be
like? Would they be as nice to her as had Bwana and My Dear, or
would they be like the other white folk she had known--cruel and
relentless. My Dear assured her that they all were gentle folk
and that she would find them kind, considerate and honorable.
To My Dear's surprise there was none of the shyness of the wild
creature in Meriem's anticipation of the visit of strangers.
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