The imams of the Green Mosque had from morning taken up yesterday's silent meditation again, sitting in the shade of the plane trees. Today, three new faces had joined them. One was an old imam, as if appearing in oriental tales, so, so old that, since he was motionless, he seemed scarcely alive. He had a long white beard and a long white robe. He was sitting on the red carpet, dressed all in white, continuing a meditation begun almost a century ago. Also, a black man with a green turban, returning from the Holy Cities, and a Maghrebi, an Arab from Algeria.

On one side, there was the group of fine blond warriors with embroidered jackets, and under the arches of the white pavilion, the four little girls with cherry ear-rings. Altogether, it was the same quiet gathering as yesterday evening. Our greeting this morning on seeing the imams once again was even more friendly. To honour us even more, they sat us down on either side of the old man and he extended his hand to us, as he bid us welcome with a smile. We also found the Green Mosque even more attractive and its lines more harmonious; an even greater peace emerged from its marble facade and steps, invaded by red poppies and grasses.

The black man informed us he was from Western Sudan, but he could no longer remember his native land, since he had been taken to Bursa when he was a small child. The Algerian told us he had come here after performing the pilgrimage to Mecca – without knowing why, perhaps just some nomadic whim. But now, he was missing his home which he left two years ago and wanted to return. It happened that my travelling companion, H. de V…, who was also formerly my companion in Morocco, had lived in his village and knew his tribe and his tribal chief and this brought tears to the exile's eyes. Then, a conversation in Arabic began between the two, while I chatted in Turkish with the imams. Hookahs were brought, along with coffee and small sorbets. There was the delightful shade from the plane trees and an exquisite breeze passed

over the suspended terrace where the views extended far into the distance. The fountain gushed beneath the white pavilion, refreshing the air. There seemed to be a freshness coming from the near-by sanctuary, from the Green Mosque itself with its mass of marble and tilework.