The liquid-eyed rascal with the priceless amber necklace then led away the escort, Ahmed included, to some place where they could stall the horses, and--side-by-side, lest any question of precedence should be involved, Anazeh and I followed ben Nazir into the house.
We were not the only guests there.

He ushered us into a square room, in which outrageous imported furniture, with gilt and tassels on it, stood out like loathsome sores against rugs and cushions fit for the great Haroun-al-Raschid's throne room.

Any good museum in the world would have competed to possess the rugs, but the furniture was the sort that France sends eastward in the name of "culture"-- stuff for "savages" to sit on and be civilized while the white man bears the burden and collects the money.
There were half-a-dozen Arabs reclining on two bastard Louis- something-or-other settees, who rose to their feet as we entered.
There was another man, sitting on a cushion in a corner by himself, who did not get up.

He wore a white head-dress exactly like our host's, and seemed to consider himself somebody very important indeed.

After one swift searching glance at us he went into a brown study, as if a mere sheikh and a Christian alien were beneath his notice.
We were introduced first of all to the men who had stood up to greet us, and that ceremony took about five minutes.