noon
On the third morning the great dunes were left behind , and the bassourahs no longer swayed like towers in a rotary earthquake with the movements of the camels . Far away across a flat expanse of golden sand , silvered by saltpetre , a long , low cloud -- blue-green as a peacock 's tail -- trailed on the horizon . It was the oasis of Djazerta , with its thousands of date palms . At first the vision seemed to float behind a veil of sparkling gauze , unreal as a mirage ; but toward noon it brightened and sharpened in outline , until at last the tall trees took individual form , bunches of unripe dates beneath their spread fan of plumes hanging down like immense yellow fists at the end of limp , thin arms cased in orange-coloured gloves . There was a _ chott _ , or dried desert lake , glistening white and livid blue , full of ghostly reflections , to cross ; but once on the other side all the poetic romance of fairy gardens and magic mirrors vanished . The vast oasis rose out of earthy sand and cracked mud ; and the houses piled together beyond it were no longer cubes of molten gold , but squalid , primitive buildings of sun-dried brick crowding each other for shade and protection , their only beauty in general effect and bizarre outline . `` Am I to live in one of those mud hovels ? ''