ABSTRACT
I found my house as I had left it. The old Copt and his wife busy setting everything in order, the slave asleep on a divan, the cocks and hens pecking maize in the courtyard, and the barbarin smoking at the cafe opposite—all awaited me as they should have done. But I could not find the cook. The Copt's arrival had doubtless put the idea into his head that he was about to be replaced, and he had gone off without a word, as very frequently happens with the servants and working people of Cairo. They take care to be paid every day, so that they can do what they please in such matters.
