On these narrow and filthy slopes lived the bedizened and dismal prostitutes of the entire maritime city.
In this district were huddled together the warriors of the French-African colonies, impelled by their ardor of race and by their desire to free themselves gluttonously from the restrictions of their Mahommedan country where the women live in jealous seclusion.

On every corner were groups of Moroccan infantry, recently disembarked or convalescing from wounds, young soldiers with red caps and long cloaks of mustard yellow.

The Zouaves of Algiers conversed with them in a Spanish spattered with Arabian and French.

Negro youths who worked as stokers in the vessels, came up the steep, narrow streets with eyes sparkling restlessly as though contemplating wholesale rapine.

Under the doorways disappeared grave Moorish horsemen, trailing long garments fastened at the head in a ball of whiteness, or garbed in purplish mantles, with sharp pointed hoods that gave them the aspect of bearded, crimson-clad monks.
The captain went through the upper end of these streets, stopping appreciatively to note the rude contrast which they made with their terminal vista.