‘Oh! if it is only that,’ said Mouzaffer, ‘he shall soon be content. Offer him a hundred gold sequins, and let him leave the town with all the speed and all the secrecy which I exact from him.’

‘No, no, lord Mouzaffer,’ cried Couloufe, hear­ing him speak thus, ‘you may double the sum in vain, you may give me ten thousand sequins, you may add to it in vain all the richest stuffs in your shops, I shall not break such a sacred engagement.’

‘Young man,’ said Danischemend then to him, ‘you are not acting in good part in this affair. I advise you to take the hundred gold sequins and to repudiate your wife without delay, for if you reduce us to the necessity of making this affair public, you will repent it, on my word.’

‘Your threats,’ replied the son of Abdallah, ‘do not alarm me. You cannot oblige me to destroy a union which the laws protect.’

‘Ah! this is too much,’ interrupted at this juncture the impetuous Taher, who had had much difficulty in restraining himself and remaining silent till then; ‘let us take this miserable fellow to the cadi, and let us have him treated as he deserves. We will see whether honest people are to be abused by vain promises.’

Danischemend and Mouzaffer still tried to persuade Couloufe that he ought to do with a good grace what they wished, but not being suc­cessful, they led him before the cadi. They informed this judge of all that had passed, and on their report the cadi, looking at Couloufe, spoke to him thus:

‘Young stranger, whom no one knows in this town, and who lived in a mosque on the alms which our ministers gave you every day, have you lost your judgment so far as to imagine that you will remain in tranquil marriage with a lady who has been the wife of Taher? The son of the richest merchant of Samarcand is to see a wife whom he loves and whom he wishes to take back in the arms of a wretch, whose low birth is perhaps his least fault! Reflect and consider. You are not in a position of equality with your wife, and were you even of higher rank than Taher, it is enough that you are not in a state to bear the expenses suitable to a respectable family for me to withhold you permission to live with your wife. Renounce therefore the foolish hope which you have conceived, and which has made you violate an oath. Accept the offer of the lord Mouzaffer, repudiate your wife and return to your country, or if you persist in not wishing to consent, prepare to receive directly a hundred blows with a stick.’

The speech of the cadi, although spoken with a judicial voice, had not the power to shake the firm­ness of the son of Abdallah, who received the hundred blows bravely, and without giving way.

‘That is enough for to-day,’ said the cadi. ‘To-morrow we will double the dose, and if it is not strong enough to cure him of his obstinacy, we will have recourse to more violent remedies. Let him pass this night with his wife. I hope we shall see him more reasonable to-morrow.’

Taher would have wished that, without waiting for the following day, they had continued to strike Couloufe, and had it depended on him, it would have been done, but the cadi did not wish it, so that Mouzaffer and his son returned home with Couloufe, who, all broken as he was by the blows he had received, did not fail to look upon the liberty given him to see Dilara again as a sweet panacea for his pains.

Mouzaffer tried to persuade the son of Abdallah with gentleness. He made him fresh promises, he offered him three hundred gold sequins if he would immediately repudiate the daughter of Boyruc, and whilst he spared nothing to win him over, Taher entered the lady’s apartment.

She was in a state of inexpressible agitation. Impatient to learn what had passed at the cadi’s, she awaited Couloufe with all possible anxiety. Although assured of his love, she feared lest his firmness had given way, and she could not help believing it when she saw her first husband appear. She thought, on seeing him, that he had come to announce to her this terrible news. Her face grew deadly pale, and she all but fell in a swoon.

Taher was deceived by these signs of grief. He thought someone had already told the lady that Couloufe refused to repudiate her, and that this refusal was the cause of the profound affliction with which she appeared seized.

‘Madam,’ he said to her, ‘do not abandon your­self to your sadness. It is not yet time to despair. The wretch whom I chose as intermediary does not indeed wish to return you to my love, but don’t let that distress you. He has already received a hun­dred blows, and to-morrow he will have many more if he persists in not doing what he agreed with us to do. The cadi has even resolved to make him suffer extreme tortures. Console yourself, then, my sultana, you have only this night to pass with the fellow; from to-morrow I shall become your husband again. I come to reassure you myself, and to exhort you to be patient, for I do not doubt that the necessity for enduring that creature is a great mortification for you.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ interrupted Dilara, ‘I admit to you that I am sorely troubled on account of the man. The peace of my life depends on him; alas, I fear this affair will not turn out as I wish.’

‘Pardon me, my queen,’ he rejoined with alacrity; ‘calm an anxiety so flattering to Taher. You may flatter yourself that our union will be re-established to-morrow.’

Thus saying, he left the lady’s apartment, and Couloufe entered it a moment after.

As soon as she saw the son of Abdallah, she passed from grief to joy.

‘Ah! dear spouse,’ she cried, offering him her arm, ‘come and receive the reward of your con­stancy. Is it possible that you have rather suffered an ignominious treatment than renounce Dilara? Taher himself has told me everything that hap­pened to you at the cadi’s, and if I am charmed with your firmness, I also feel very keenly the barbarity which has been practised on you. I cannot, without alarm, think of the new torments which threaten you.’

‘Madam,’ replied Couloufe, ‘whatever tortures may be prepared for me, my constancy shall not be shaken; they will produce no more effect than the promises which Mouzaffer has just made me, they can neither seduce nor terrify me. I do not know what fate the arbiter of our destinies has in store for me, I do not know whether he wishes me to die or to live for you, but at least I know well that it is not written in the sacred tables of the sky, where the inevitable destination of all things is inscribed, that I shall repudiate you.’

‘No,’ replied the daughter of Boyruc, ‘Heaven has not united us in such a marvellous manner in order to separate us almost immediately. I cannot believe that it will let you perish, and I feel that I am inspired by it with a means of deceiving our enemies.’

‘Have you told the cadi,’ she added, ‘that you have been the favourite of the King Mirgehan?’

‘No,’ replied Couloufe, ‘for the judge closed my mouth at once by saying that he would never allow me to wed you since I was without means, even were I well born.’

‘That being so,’ she said, ‘follow exactly the advice which I am going to give you. To-morrow, when you are before the cadi, do not fail to say that you are the son of Massaoud. He is a merchant of Khokand, who has immense wealth. You have only to maintain that he is your father. Say boldly even that you will soon receive news from him which will make known to everyone that you say nothing that is not true.’

Couloufe promised Dilara to employ this false­hood, to avoid, if possible, the tortures prepared for him, and the hope which they both conceived that by this means they would compel the cadi to let them live together, made them more tranquil. They both yielded insensibly to their hopes, and, turning their thoughts from future troubles, they gave themselves up to the pleasure of the moment. They passed the rest of the day and all the night in delightful conversation; but very soon daylight came to disturb their joy.

The cadi’s people, led by Taher, arrived at the door of the room. They knocked loudly, crying:

‘Come forth, stranger! It is time to appear before the judge; come forth.’

The son of Abdallah sighed deeply at these words, and his wife began to cry.

‘Unfortunate Couloufe,’ she said, ‘how dear your spouse costs you!’

‘My princess,’ he replied, ‘pray dry your tears. They pierce my heart. Do not let us give way to despair; let us rather revive our hope; let us await everything from Heaven; I flatter myself that it will succour me; I even feel already an effect of its kindness—my courage redoubles, and there is no danger that can make me tremble.’

Thus saying, he opened the door, and followed the cadi’s people, who led him to their master.

Mouzaffer and his son accompanied them, and appeared full of uneasiness.